High Calling
by Red Crown
Summary: An American strike on Iranian nuclear facilities looks to make the world a safer place. However, they stumble on something that is much larger than they could have expected: an ancient prophecy that threatens to plunge the whole world into war. Realistic
1. Skirmish

Author's note: I first posted this in 2007-2008, but then took it down because I didn't have the time to finish it. Now I'm inspired to write again and I'm reposting it. I hope you all enjoy it. My story is patterned more towards realism so some things that apply in the game won't apply to my story. For example, no fighter jet can carry 50 all-purpose missiles. I will actually look up the real capabilities and arsenals of every fighter jet before entering it into my story. In case you are wondering, yes, I have all the Ace Combat games except for the second one and I have beaten all of them except for the second one.

Extra Note: I know this is the Ace Combat section and it has nothing to do with the real world, but this is the most active place that has anything to do with fighter pilots so I placed this here for all of you who love to read about combat in the skies. Also, I am **not** a politically correct person and my story involves religious issues so you have been warned. I am not trying to offend those who believe differently. None of what I write is meant to be offensive. What I believe is written in my story and this is just the way I perceive things. I welcome constructive criticism and if at any time you feel the need to flame me, go ahead.

Extra Extra Note: This is not to be copied or used by anyone, anywhere in anyway without my consent.

**Extra Extra Extra Note: Some of you may remember that I posted this up a while ago and took it down two times already. Military technology advances very quickly and I need to keep updating my story to incorporate the new weapons and updates. Also, I am a very busy man and don't have a lot of time to modify these chapters or the story. Please bear with me. I will, however, point out that if you review it will help me to modify my chapters faster.**

_"Draw me not without reason, Sheath me not without honor." _-A Naval Officer's Manual of the Sword

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CHAPTER ONE: _**"Skirmish"**_

**Date: March 4, 2013**

**Time: 1400 hours, 2:00 P.M. (Beijing time)**

**Location: 30,000 feet over the Taiwan Strait.**

Cruising through the air with the sound of thunder trailing behind them, the two war birds of the United States Air Force continued along their assigned course of patrol. The sharp edges of the Raptor's sleek airframe sliced through the clouds like a hot knife though butter. Their skin was a shade of dark gray and their triangular wings gracefully rode the wind. Rays of sunlight reflected off their radar absorbent cockpits.

The sun shined brightly and the clouds were thick. The calm sea was an exotic shade of blue and appeared endless. First Lieutenant Rowdy Coughlin, callsign "Scorch," could only describe the day as beautiful and he couldn't love his job anymore than he already did.

In his cockpit he had his flight suit dawned and his oxygen mask securely in place. Only his green eyes and well tanned skin were visible behind a darkly tinted visor. They were confident. In his late twenties, he was lean and athletic, the archetype of fighter pilot.

His Joint Helmet Mounted Cueing System (JHMCS), a helmet with a visor that reflected critical data in the form of green light, displayed his airspeed, altitude, a horizon line, a compass, bank and slip indicators. It read 450 knots, 30,000 feet, zero degrees of climb, east bound, zero degrees of bank and slip.

"This is Killer One-one to K-mart, my scope is clear," he said over the radio to his Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) operator on a far away E-3 Sentry that packed the sensors and the officers necessary to carry out C2BM (command and control, battle management functions).

Usually a response to his calls was immediate, but for some reason the guy on the other end was taking his time. Coughlin was about to repeat his last transmission, when the AWACS operator responded.

"K-mart to Killer One-one, we have an unknown contact south bound. Your vector zero-nine-zero. Range one-five miles. Estimate five-zero-zero knots plus. Negative IFF (Identification Friend or Foe). Check it out," said the young voice on the other end.

"Roger that, K-mart. Moving to intercept," replied Scorch, before steadily altering his course in the designated direction.

Taiwan had allowed the U.S. to keep a small military presence there, but only because of their fear that China might invade. Communist China, which claimed the island of Taiwan as its own, had warned that they would invade if the democratic government of Taiwan ceased talks or declared itself free. Taiwan was moving in that direction gradually and the more they moved in that direction the closer the possibility of war became. Taiwan had already ceased talks, but did not declare freedom from China. Coughlin feared that the bogeys might be Chinese fighters.

"Think they're fighters?" asked his wing man, Second Lieutenant Ben Sandrage.

"There's only one way to find out," replied Scorch.

Ben Sandrage, callsign "Punk," was a good wingman, despite his attitude problem, and Scorch didn't mind flying with him. He had earned the name "Punk" when his attitude had caused higher ranking officers to almost ground him for a sour comment he made. One of the high-rank officers said that he "acted like a punk."

Scorch's radar was set to Track While Scan (TWS) mode. The TWS range versus azimuth display showed the bogey location, velocity vector, mach number, and altitude for the designated priority target on one of his multifunctional displays, screens in his cockpit that display various information. The APG-77 Active Electronically Scanned Array (AESA) housed in the nose of his Raptor made the scanning and tracking capabilities far faster and more powerful than any other radar in the U.S. military arsenal. Soon enough two dots showed up on radar. They were heading in a direction perpendicular to his path, mach .9, 25,000 feet.

"You getting these?" asked Scorch.

"Contact twenty left," replied Punk.

Scorch immediately got back into contact with his AWACS operator again.

"This is Killer One-one to K-mart, we have radar contact. Requesting I.D. confirmation," he said.

"K-mart to Killer One-one, we are unable to confirm. We need you to visually I.D. them. If the target is hostile, your orders are to not fire unless fired upon," responded the voice on the other end.

"Roger that, K-mart," replied Coughlin, before ending communication.

Scorch prepared himself for something dangerous. The term "visually I.D." meant getting in close enough for him to see them with his naked eyes and that was all the range needed for a close in dogfight, assuming that the bogey was hostile and a fighter. All his past training came to mind.

He turned off his radar since having it on would automatically betray his position to the bogeys. With the radar off the Raptor's stealth technology would make them vanish from the bogey's radar.

As they moved in closer he began to see a few tiny dots about ten miles ahead and below him moving from his left to his right. They were flying tightly in a straight line and moving in a direction perpendicular to Punk and Scorch's path. The formation helped hide the number of actual aircraft from radar and it was then that the two Raptor pilots realized that there were actually four aircraft in flight. They were definitely fighters.

"I have a visual on four bogeys, but I can't make out any of the markings on their planes, or their make. We need to close in," said Scorch.

Once the dots crossed their paths the two pilots gently lowered the nose of their F-22s into a steady descent and turned to match their direction with that of the bogies'. Scorch watched as the altitude indicator on his JHMCS dropped by 5,000 feet. Once they had reached their desired altitude they leveled out the nose again. They were a good distance behind the formation now and greater detail on the bogey planes was able to be noticed.

Their long cockpits encased two individuals in each plane. Two large turbofan engines propelled them through the air. Their back-swept wings and wide tail fins guided and balanced them on their way. They were skinned with a pale slate color and a white nose. On each wing was a red star with a stripe on each side outlined in yellow. Their markings proudly bared that of the People's Liberation Army Air Force. They were four Su-30MKK Super Flankers.

Scorch immediately got into contact with his AWACS operator again.

"Killer One-one to K-mart, confirm contact as four Chinese Flankers. They are heading across the Taiwan Straight and into Taiwanese airspace. Requesting orders," said

"K-mart to Killer, we are relaying your situation to a higher command. Stand by for orders," said the voice on the other end.

"Roger that, K-mart."

While the information was being sent to some moron higher up in the food chain, Scorch began to get a little nervous. The Flanker pilots probably didn't even know he was there, courtesy of stealth technology. The thought of them being startled didn't seem like a good thing at the moment.

Scorch took the opportunity to check his weapons. He pressed the desired button on one of his multifunctional displays and the armament was shown. Since he was on patrol he was lightly armed with two AIM-9X Sidewinder missiles that had been modified to lock on the enemy before launching, unlike previous versions, and 480 rounds of 20mm Vulcan cannon ammunition. Ben had the same load out.

For all Scorch and Punk knew, the pilots could have spotted them already and be plotting to attack them. Or the pilots probably had an AWACS of their own and their guy on the other end was giving them information on the American pilot's positions. He assumed that they had their radars off. The wait was maddening. Scorch examined the under wings of the Flankers and saw an almost full load of ordinance. They were far more heavily armed than his Raptor was. _"All the better if they want to fight,"_ he thought.

Just then his AWACS operator came in. "K-mart to Killer, you are to warn them that they are in dangerous proximity of Taiwanese airspace and they need to return to their native airspace immediately," said the operator.

"Roger that, K-mart," answered an irritated Scorch. _"I should have known some politician would have us play the role of a sitting duck,"_ he thought to himself. The world opinion of America was not doing so well at this time, so politicians often stepped into military affairs and changed the tactics of combat. If Americans fired the first shot against an enemy, America would be viewed as an aggressor and thus worsen the view of America. Because of this, politicians wanted Americans to always take the first hit and appear as if fighting in self defense. Military leaders and frontline service men, such as Scorch, hated it. The tactic of "only fire unless fired upon" was getting Americans killed. In Scorch's opinion, Chinese military pilots should stay away from Taiwan in the first place. If they did not, then screw them.

"This is such crap," stated Punk, "Next time they should just tell us to fly into their gun sights and see if one of us gets shot."

"Orders are orders. Just stay calm and prepare yourself for anything," replied Scorch.

Both of the Raptor pilots increased their thrust and moved in closer to pull up beside the Flanker squadron's left. Once on their nine o'clock, they slowed down and tried to match their speed with the Chinese fighters. They were even able to see greater detail: the pilots in the cockpit and their Russian-made cue ball-looking helmets. Green oxygen masks concealed their faces. The lead Chinese pilot's head jerked towards the two Americans once he got sight of them. Narrow eyes behind a darkly tinted visor watched them intently.

"Think they understand English?" asked Punk.

"They'll probably get the idea," replied Scorch before switching to an open channel on his radio and clearing his throat. "Attention, Chinese pilots, you are in dangerous proximity to Taiwanese airspace and you must leave the area immediately! Lower your gear if you understand," he warned.

He asked this because on most planes lowering the landing gear automatically shut off the weapon systems.

In response, the trailing Su-30 suddenly broke formation, cut his throttle, and slid into a position right behind the two Raptors.

Punk heard the warning tone in his cockpit that signaled a missile was locked onto him and immediately rolled left and made a hard bank away from Scorch and the other Su-30s. The bank caused him to lose altitude and speed and put tremendous G(Gravity)-forces on his body. Scorch watched as he swung out into a wide turn.

"This guy's got me spiked!" Punk shouted in his radio.

The Su-30 followed him in the turn and kept its lock on Punk's Raptor. Punk suddenly switched his direction, rolling right, and pulled into another hard bank. The maneuver caused him to lose more altitude and bleed off more speed. The Su-30, again, followed him into the bank, its missile lock unshaken.

Scorch immediately chased after the two fighters and maneuvered behind the Su-30 that was locked onto his wingman. He selected one of his Sidewinders, but did not arm it.

"Killer One-one to K-mart, one of the bogies has acquired a missile lock onto my wingman! Requesting permission to engage!" He shouted over the radio.

Punk swiftly hit his air brake, cutting his speed, and again he reversed his turn. The instant drop in his speed caused the Su-30 to come zooming at him.

The Chinese pilot almost overshot him and quickly performed a cobra maneuver. While maintaining his same heading and direction he decreased his speed, activated his airbrake, and pulled his nose straight up. His plane began to slow down to a point where it almost appeared suspended in mid-air. The wind striking against its wings caused the plane to buffet and forced it upward, gaining little altitude. The decrease in speed allowed Punk to shoot away from him in his turn. Right then the Chinese pilot pushed down on the stick, leveled the nose, and banked into a hard left turn with full afterburner to follow Punk. The whole maneuver took only one and a half seconds.

"This is K-mart, Negative! You are not to fire unless you are fired upon!"

Both of the pilot's sudden decrease in speed from the maneuvers caused Scorch to almost over shoot both of them. To keep a position behind the Flanker he had to pull up and gain altitude, then roll inverted and pull into a downward turn after him.

"Scorch, get down here and get this guy off me!" Punk shouted.

Scorch could hear the missile warning tone wailing for its life in Punk's cockpit. He sensed in Punk's voice the panic that he was holding back.

"Hang in there! I'm on his six!" he replied.

Just then, the Flanker pilot fired. A heat-seeking PL-8 missile shot off from under his wing and tore through the sky towards Punk. The Raptor pilot began launching flares, but the effort was futile.

"Scorch!" Punk cried out to his wingman, before impact.

For Scorch, time seemed to slow down and he was able to see the nose of the missile smash right into Punk's cockpit. An orange fireball engulfed the F-22 and the plane began to spiral down towards the sea leaving a trail of black smoke in its wake. Millions of dollars worth of stealth coated metals went tumbling out of the sky, along with them his invaluable and irreplaceable wingman.

Time resumed its normal course. Sensations of fear and excitement overwhelmed Scorch.

"This is Killer One-one, we have been engaged! Punk is down!" he shouted into his radio, while simultaneously arming his Sidewinder. The side bay doors opened, exposing the Sidewinder's heat seeker to the enemy. It didn't take long for the infra-red (IR) seeker to lock on the Flanker's exhaust. As a result, a targeting box with a diamond appeared over the Flanker on his JHMCS.

"Fox two!"

He immediately fired his own missile. The roar from the launch of his Sidewinder was followed by the groan of the side bay doors closing instantly after launch. He watched as its contrail swiftly made its way towards the Su-30. The Chinese pilot immediately released a shower of flares and banked away to disappear into a nearby cloud. The missile followed him into the cloud and Scorch saw a flash on the inside.

Just then his cockpit was filled with the missile alert tone. His Radar Warning Receiver (RWR) picked up the missile coming from his left and displayed it as a tiny dot coming towards him on his other multifunctional display. He ejected chaff and flare and made a hard left bank. He looked up in his cockpit and his eyes fell onto the incoming projectile five-hundred meters at his nine o'clock.

Looking into the face of the missile made him feel cornered. He felt as if he was staring into the eyes of some vicious beast about to prey on him. He watched as the missile headed straight for him before quickly steering its way into one of the clouds of chaff behind him and detonating a harmless distance away from the Raptor.

Scorch wasn't allowed a split second to revel in his relief. The other three Su-30s were quickly coming at him in tight formation from above on his nine o'clock, their 30mm cannons spewing green tracer rounds at him. Scorch continued to turn into them. Not even half way into his bank, the Flankers overshot him and he reversed his turn. The Chinese pilots split their formation in several directions. Scorch slid right behind the nearest one and selected his other Sidewinder missile. The side bay opened up to allow the Sidewinder to acquire a lock on.

"Fox two!" he called and pulled the trigger.

The missile's engine ignited and sent it tearing through the sky towards the Flanker. The Su-30 began releasing its flares, but it was to no avail. The missile went up the left tail pipe of the Flanker and the entire back end of the aircraft was blown apart. Pale slate colored metals formed a cloud in the sky and the remaining front half of the aircraft began to spiral out of control. Amidst the flames his eyes were able to catch the two rocket exhausts of the occupants' ejection seats.

"Splash one!" he called out; a smirk appearing on his face.

His only weapon left was his Vulcan cannon with 480 rounds of 20mm ammunition. The Vulcan had a firing rate of 6,000 rounds a minute. 480 rounds were almost enough for a mere 5 second trigger squeeze.

Scorch leveled the wings a little and let his eyes graze the sky. In the midst of all the blue he saw a bit of pale slate out of the corner of his eye. An Su-30 was on his five o'clock and quickly closing in on him.

Scorch began to turn inside him and the Flanker's cannon went ablaze. He could see the tracers slice through the sky and fall behind him. The Flanker pilot began pulling hard trying to get his nose pointed in front Scorch's Raptor to lead him with the deadly stream of gun fire.

The American saw thick cloud cover below him and decided to use an old dogfighting tactic.

He lowered his nose down and dived into the cloud cover. White engulfed his canopy and blinded him. The Flanker followed behind and was blinded as well. While Scorch was in the cloud he hit the brakes and cut his speed. The Flanker flew right over him and passed inches away from colliding with his Raptor. Even in the thickness of the cloud Scorch was able to see his adversary's two exhausts as he went by. The roar of the engines was followed by a wave of jet wash hitting his plane, shaking it violently.

When the Chinese pilot exited the cloud he was surprised to find the situation reversed and the F-22 behind him. The Su-30 pulled into a hard left bank. Scorch hit the afterburners to regain his speed. At the same time, he selected his gun, and followed his enemy into the bank.

He flipped on his radar and set it to Gunsight Acquisition (GACQ) mode, which displayed the target nearest to his aircraft after a scan of volume projected off his nose. He received a lock on the Flanker and a bore site appeared on his JHMCS.

The Raptor's bank rate exceeded that of the Flanker, so Scorch merely had to be patient and wait for his bore sight to catch up with the Communist fighter, which was easier said than done.

The turn began to strain G's onto his body. He felt the blood begin to rush from his head and his field of vision slowly began to narrow. He felt his G-suit (Gravity Suit) squeeze his thighs as he desperately flexed his central muscles in an attempt to push the oxygenated blood back up to his head. Once the bore sight slowly crawled onto his enemy he squeezed the trigger.

"Guns! Guns! Guns!" he called out.

So much blood had been drained from Scorch's head that he was nearly blind and barely able to see his stream of tracers fly into the Flanker's path. Several impacted and tore off the right wing. The Su-30 fell out of control and went tumbling toward the water below. The pilot and his Weapons System Officer (WSO) ejected.

Scorch leveled his wings and the G's let up on him. He felt the tremendous weight lift off his body and his vision returned once the blood was restored to his head. For a moment he felt light headed, but he quickly shook it off.

He gave a weak and withered "Splash two."

His JHMCS, now without a target, displayed a funnel indicating where his bullets would go at his current flight path. He checked his ammo again, 380 rounds left. He was about to start looking for the other Flanker when suddenly a spray of tracers whizzed by him from ahead. Immediately, he recieved a radar lock ahead of him and his JHMCS switched to a bore sight.

The Su-30 was coming at him head on with its cannon blazing. Scorch was startled, but his training took over. He aimed his nose toward the enemy and lit his own cannon, diving right into his enemy's attack. They were both coming head on towards each other with their guns ablaze, the distance rapidly decreasing every instant.

The Flanker appeared like a blur as it passed over Scorch. He banked around to see what had become of his enemy. He had come to find a wounded Su-30 tumbling out of control toward the body of water below. The canopy was littered with bullet holes and stained with blood. The pilot and his weapons systems officer did not escape.

After checking his own aircraft for damage and finding none, Scorch again checked his ammo, 268 rounds left. Just then a warning tone went off in his cockpit. He checked his six o'clock and spotted an Su-30. At first he thought there must have been another Flanker that he didn't see, but then he realized that the right vertical tail fin of the Flanker had been damaged and was torn in half. Scorch's first missile must have clipped its target, but did not destroy it. This pilot on his six was the very same guy that had killed Punk.

His heart burned with a desire for revenge.

He pulled into a hard left bank and the Flanker followed. Scorch began jinking, making several turns in various directions trying to shake off the Flanker on his tail, but no matter where he turned the Flanker pilot showed cunning skill in using his energy to remain behind him. A missile warning tone went off in Scorch's cockpit to signify a missile launch. He immediately rolled inverted, pulled into a dive, and ejected chaff and flares. The missile went for the flares and exploded narrowly missing him.

Suddenly Scorch saw several tracers fly by his side. The Su-30 had followed him into the dive. The Raptor pilot pulled out of the dive and banked hard right into a layer of cloud that rested in the sky. The Flanker kept his pursuit and followed him into the blinding white.

The American pulled up out of the cloud and activated his airbrake to slow down. He let his eyes skim the layers of white in search of the Chinese fighter, but he found nothing. Just then he heard several loud noises, as if he was inside a car and someone had thrown a thousand metal BBs at it. His plane shook violently and he was jarred around in his cockpit.

Scorch tried to pull the stick back, but nothing happened. He was no longer in control of his plane. Bitching Betty, the automated female voice that provides audible in-cockpit warnings, began nagging him in his ear to eject. He began to spin down into the cloud and went through it tumbling towards the ocean. G's began shoving him all around in his cockpit. A quick glance behind him revealed that his left wing was gone and both of his engines were on fire. The fuselage of his Raptor was littered with bullet wounds that bled hydraulic fluid. He looked ahead to find the sea approaching fast. His altitude was 5,000 feet and descending quickly. There wasn't time to think. He reached down to his ejection handle and pulled.

The canopy was blown off and small rockets under his seat launched him up into the sky. The wind hit his body like a flood. His right arm was blown around the back of the seat and he heard it break in several places. The sound of the air blowing by filled his hearing. He tumbled towards the water below. The scent of the ocean was about him. The forces of wind and gravity ruled him and played with him as if he were a rag doll. The world seemed like a blur of chaos and disorder constantly spinning out of anyone's control. His good arm found his parachute line and he pulled. His seat left his body. In an instant it all came to a sudden stop when his parachute opened and he began a peaceful decent towards the water.

The Su-30 descended from the clouds, circling around to confirm the kill. At the same time the pilot appeared as if to be taunting the American. Marked on the side of the nose was the number 001 painted in dark blue with a tiger's paw print in crimson red, the claws drawn.

"I'll never forget you," Scorch whispered under his breath.

The Flanker pilot only gave him a nod with his head before he concealed himself back into the clouds, heading north back to China, back to his home.

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**Red Crown:** Be sure to review and tell me what you think. Usually the more reviews I get the more inspired I am to right the next chapter and the sooner I update. Please forgive me for the new download of information. For every acronym I use I will put a key at the end of the chapter:

Joint Helmet Mounted Cueing System (JHMCS)

Heads Up Display (HUD)

Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS)

C2BM (command and control, battle management functions)

IFF (Identification Friend or Foe)

Track While Scan (TWS)

Active Electronically Scanned Array (AESA)

infra-red (IR)

RWR (Radar Warning Receiver)

Gunsight Acquisition (GACQ)

Gs (Gravity Forces)

Weapons System Officer (WSO)


	2. Unstable

_"Americanism means the virtues of courage, honor, justice, truth, sincerity, and hardihood—the virtues that made America. The things that will destroy America are prosperity-at-any-price, peace-at-any-price, safety-first instead of duty-first, the love of soft living and the get-rich-quick theory of life."_ -Theodore Roosevelt

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CHAPTER TWO: _**"Unstable"**_

**Date: March 5th, 2013**

**Time: 0400 hours, 4:00 A.M. (Beijing Time)**

**Location: United States Air Force Base, Taiwan**

"You can go to hell. I'm not doing it, sir," shouted Scorch.

In the previously quiet office of the US Air Force Colonel, Scorch was being "debriefed." Well air conditioned and spotless, the office was fit for a perfectionist. The Colonel wore a mask of calm. His uniform had difficulty stretching over the width of his body. In his hand was Scorch's written report of the battle that occurred yesterday in the skies over the Taiwan Straight. The eye contact he made with Scorch was unnerving.

Scorch bared sandy blond hair, his right arm in a cast and sling. He was not tall, but neither was he short. His passionate green eyes never strayed away from the Colonel's.

"Listen, Coughlin, the Chinese don't want any conflict over this. The story will reach the news in a few hours and they have agreed to deny the incident if we will," he said calmly yet sternly. "All you have to do is write a report saying that this whole thing was just an accident and you can avoid a war with two-hundred and eighty-one-million Chinese."

"It wouldn't avoid war. It would only delay it. The Chinese are going to start shooting once Taiwan declares freedom," Scorch replied, "And they killed Ben!"

"And you killed two of their men. The score is in our favor. We found out by intelligence agents in China that those Flankers were on a mission to destroy radar and radio assets in Taiwan in order to spark fear and start talks between the two countries again, which it actually did. You and Ben stopped them. Now they don't want this issue to get out and look embarrassed in front of the eyes of the whole world. You did your duty to your country in protecting an ally and the Taiwanese are very grateful. _You_ are the only survivor of this conflict so the media's going to start asking _you_ questions. All that's needed for this to blow over and diffuse is a report in your hand writing that confirms this was an accident. There is no shame in that. I know you're feeling bad about Ben. He did his duty and he knew the risks. You need to move on. Washington does not want another war!" he said, tone shrewd and cold.

To this Scorch remained silent. The silence created a pause in time and the pause in time created tension in the air and the tension in the air just made everything worse.

"Listen," the Colonel said sincerely this time, "This will hopefully scare the Chinese into giving diplomacy another chance. If you don't do this it could take someone else's life."

Scorch, again, remained silent, letting the decision tear him apart inside. He and his wingman were attacked without provocation. He wanted revenge, but then again he didn't want it at the cost of many lives, particularly other fighter pilots. However, that was not his first concern. It was Ben's wife and daughter, whom he personally knew. He could not tell them the truth of how their father really died. Then again many fathers could die if he didn't cover up the story. He finally looked away in defeat.

The Colonel in response handed him a fresh report slip and a pen. Scorch picked them up and was about to start filling it out, but he stopped short.

"What should I say, sir?" he asked.

"Just make up something," the Colonel responded as he put Scorch's old report in a nearby shredder.

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**Date: December 2nd, 2013**

**Time: 1630 hours, 4:30 P.M. (Moscow Time)**

**Location: Western Russia, Russian Federation Air Force base  
**

Senior Lieutenant Krylov sat in the cell on his knees. Endless blackness surrounded him in a vacuum of emptiness. Complete silence was his only companion, the smell of concrete filling his senses. The atmosphere tasted stale and wet, mixed in his taste buds was the metallic scent of blood. His face was slightly beaten. His short raven hair was wet with blood as well. Bluish-Gray eyes gazed into the blackness. His gaze was empty, lacking any feeling or emotion.

He should have been dead for seeing things that he should not have seen, as well as hearing things that he should not have heard. Now the Major General was deciding what to do with him. Would he be executed or released? Krylov did not know nor did he care. Life was but a drop in a bucket.

The forbidden things he had not heard nor seen by intention. He was merely on his way to the Major General's office to hand him the daily report and requests from the maintenance crew for his fighter jet and the rest of his squadron's jets.

He knocked on the Major General's office, but there was no answer. He thought it was strange that the General was not in at the hour. The door was left unlocked. He opened it and had come to find the office, nice and clean, arrayed in the exact order that its owner preferred. However, sticking out like a roman candle in the blackest of night was a rectangular black line on the wall. Krylov placed his hand on it and it recoiled in response. It was a door meant not for anyone's knowledge, but only the one who had placed it.

Curiosity seduced him into entering the dark corridor. The deeper he journeyed, the more blackness ensnared him. He continued on until he was surrounded by a seemingly endless void of nothingness.

Suddenly, a dull blue light pierced the void from ahead, the light of a computer screen. Voices echoed down the corridor to reach his hearing. Krylov recognized the deep harsh tone from the leader of the nation that he served, Russian President Sergei Chemezov.

"I've told you that all Russia's problems and economic hardships lie to the south. The only solution is to permanently calm this Middle Eastern region and expand the Mother Land's boarder southward. This would be very profitable to Russia. The Silk Road would be reopened and that will greatly benefit Europe and China. This would only harm the United States and Britain."

Returning his conversation was Major General Maraklov.

"Washington and London will not interfere. They recently pulled out of Iraq and their people lack the stomach for another war," replied the Major General.

"I know that already. That is why I am ordering you to prepare our forces in the best way possible for combat in the Middle East. For permanent peace, the Arab world must be united in one cause, the only cause that has any chance of uniting them would be the destruction of Israel. The massive oil reserves that have newly been discovered in Palestine will heal our economy. With Russia leading the Islamic armies, she will be thought of as a hero and looked up to by the Muslim world. After the war is over and peace is brought, Russia and the united Islamic countries will have complete and total control over a great majority of the world's petroleum supply as well as a majority of the world economy. We will together supersede the United States as the world's sole super power empire."

"The only problem now would be how to present that idea to the Islamic countries without causing a world outrage."

The door of opportunity for Krylov to listen for more was cut short. The barrel of an An-94 automatic rifle, the weapon of choice for Russia's elite, kissed the back of his neck.

"General, I have uncovered a spy!" called the soldier.

Startled and alerted, the Major General shut off the screen, expelling the presence of the President from the room. He turned around and looked to see what the soldier was talking about. Major General Maraklov had black hair that was just beginning to turn grey. His blue eyes were lively. He had a somewhat husky build. His eyes meet Krylov's; eyes that were familiar and became filled with pity once they fell on him.

Krylov's track of memory ended with the butt of the rifle striking him against his face. He awoke in the same black void only in a different location, awaiting the punishment that his adulterous curiosity had brought on him. He figured he would most likely be treated as a western spy. He would be tortured until he confessed to things that he had not done, and then be executed. If that was what was waiting for him he was satisfied with that. Life was empty and without purpose. However fate dictated it to end was not his choice.

Darkness was interesting, he thought. What is it that makes man fear the dark? It was a place that never changed throughout the ages; it was the same everywhere in the world. It was a place that provided solitude. It was a place that could be reached from anywhere simply by sealing out the light. The power it had on the human mind was amazing. It could easily inspire fear and depression in men. Children are born with a fear of the dark. Man's mind often yields to its influence.

Just then that darkness was cut as the door opened to reveal the Major General. Maraklov motioned for him to come out. Krylov stepped out, his chains dragging along the floor. A guard approached him and unlocked the chains. Krylov was surprised, yet not excited.

"I was able to convince them to let you go," said Maraklov.

Krylov knew why he had done what he had done. His close friendship with the Major General was the only thing that had kept him from death.

"I thought I locked the door properly. You weren't supposed to hear any of that," he continued.

"Don't you think I've figured that out on my own," Krylov replied with calm sarcasm.

"You should control your curiosity. You would have found out in a year or two anyways."

"And you should remember to lock your doors. With generals as careless as you it's a wonder the whole world hasn't discovered the president's plans and declared war already."

Maraklov chuckled at his friend's comment and led him out of the brig.

They headed outside into the Russian Winter, the natural weapon that defeated both Napoleon's and Hitler's armies. A blanket of snow covered the base. Movement of the shivering maintenance crew filled the hangers, their clothing thick and their breath visible from afar. The only thing not covered by the snow was the landing strip which required tractors to plow it away and break the ice in the morning, only to plow it again not too long after.

Krylov and Maraklov watched as a Mig-29 that had accidentally been left outside over night was being led into one of the hangers by a towing vehicle. Icicles hung stiffly from its body. The canopy was blinded with frost. It wore a coat of ice over its frame. Winter's wrath had displayed its fury.

"So we are going to war in the Middle East," Krylov said casually.

Maraklov must have figured that since he already knew it didn't matter if he talked about it with him. "In a year or two," he answered, "The president is individually briefing all the generals of every service branch about it. He wants things done in a very specific manner. The target will be Jerusalem. Preparations started a few years ago."

"What's another war to the world anyway?" Krylov replied nonchalantly.

* * *

**Date: December 2nd, 2013**

**Time: 1800 hours, 6:00 P.M. (Eastern Daylight Time)**

**Location: United States, Delaware, Delaware Space Grant College Consortium**

British Astronomer, Professor Grover Madison, headed into his lab alone. After having lunch with the student who he had taken under his wing in the art of astronomy he felt fantastic. Ebelina Steinhaus was her name and she was a student from Germany. He had fallen in love with her long ago. She was everything he ever wanted in a female. Her witty and sarcastic personality sent his heart high in the sky whenever he had an intellectual exchange with her. Not only did she have a great mind, but she was simply a knock-out beauty.

He took off his hat that had kept his nearly white blond hair hidden and dawned his glasses that magnified his curious green eyes. Today the latest photos from Atlas Vision, a powerful land based electronic telescope that he had designed with funding from NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration), would be coming in, which made his day all the better.

His telescope was highly unique and pushed the envelope of technology. Atlas Vision could easily find and track a moving object through space and steadily keep the lens focused on the object as it moved. Even if he was trying to look at something as simple as a satellite orbiting above the earth or as lightning quick as a comet passing by the solar system in a matter seconds Atlas Vision would follow the object and keep the lens steady and focused on the object as long as there was a clear line of site between it and the lens. No other telescope in the world could do such a thing and Grover prided himself on it as his life's accomplishment. It was his contribution to the world of science that would cement his name in history. He had finished testing it a week ago and tonight was the night he decided where and when to reveal his triumph to the world. No one knew he was finished with Atlas Vision except for Ebelina.

Grover was in awe of the images his telescope had taken. Billions of stars formed various shades of colors that united into large, beautiful paintings and decorated the blackness of space. Many of his other photos were that of asteroids and comets in motion. For one of his tests he made Atlas Vision track one moving comet and snap a series of pictures of it in motion. They all came out with flawless perfection. "If there is a God he sure makes the finest art work," he said to himself.

However, the last photo sparked his interest. It appeared as if he had tried to take a shot of a section of galaxies and a cloud of dust got in the way._ "That's interesting. Asteroids maybe?" _he thought. He decided he would take another picture on the same day next year at the exact same time and see if they had not moved. Maybe he would have a clearer picture then.

Just then he heard a knock on the door to his lab. "Who's there?" he asked.

"It's me. I just wanted to stop by and talk with you a little," came the seductive feminine voice of his student.

Grover approached the door with excitement. He unlocked the door and opened it partially.

To his surprise he had come to find three men dressed entirely in black. Their faces were hidden by ski masks. One of them pulled out an MR-444 pistol with a suppressor attached and pointed it at his face while another forcefully propped the door open all the way.

"Thank you for letting us in, Professor," the individual with the pistol said in a light Russian accent as he and his accomplices entered the lab.

Grover, fearing for his life, put his hands up and backed out of the way. All three men entered. Following them in to his amazement was…

"Ebelina!"

She was wearing the exact same set clothes that she had worn to her lunch date with Grover, which included dark high heel boots, a simple dark red dress with a short skirt, a black jacket with a fur inside that ended at the edges, and a gold bracelet. Her beauty was entirely natural and she wore only a light shade of makeup, which made her even more attractive. Her long, dirty blonde hair was straight and down. Her blue eyes, once lively and wild as Grover had seen only hours ago, now seemed cold and emotionless.

"What are these men doing here, Ebelina?" asked the scientist.

The woman whom he had come to love didn't even look at him as she reached into her purse and pulled out a knife. "First of all, do you think a woman this good looking would really have the ugly name 'Ebelina?' My real name is Vanya Maraklova. And second of all…"

With incredible force she grabbed him by his throat and shoved him up against the wall with the knife less than a centimeter away from his left eye. "If you don't tell me where you put your design schematics and software for Atlas Vision I'm going to gouge your eyes out."

"They're in an external hard drive!" he immediately shouted.

"Where?" asked the man with the pistol.

"The hard drive is in a safe in the basement," he answered.

"Take us there, now," the man said.

Grover led the way down stairs, through several security mechanisms, and finally to a large vault with an electronic lock.

"Open it," said the man with the pistol.

Grover punched in the multiple security codes that the lock needed. The vault opened and revealed a simple external hard drive with one terabyte of space capacity.

Vanya walked in and picked it up. She examined it in her hand before she handed it to one of the masked men. The masked individual produced a laptop and hooked the external hard drive up through a USB port. He began to scan through the files to ensure that it was not a fake.

"These are the schematics," he said. Like his accomplice he too had a Russian accent, only his was thicker. "I've disabled the security cameras and the alarms but they have a backup system that will kick in within ten minutes. We should go now."

The man with the pistol turned to Vanya. "We have what we need. You've done well. Now let's get out of here," he said.

"What about him?" she asked pointing to Grover.

"He is of no further use to us. Let's get rid of him," he said casually and pointed the pistol towards the astronomer's head.

Grover immediately showed a look of despair. "But I gave you what you wanted!"

"Wait," Vanya said and stopped the masked gunman. "I'll do it. Give me the gun," she said. The man obeyed her. "Get to the car. I'll be there in less than five minutes."

"I'm curious as to why it matters. But then again, who are we to question a general's daughter," said the one with the laptop. The masked men did as ordered and exited the vault. Once they left Vanya and Grover were alone.

"Vanya, why?" asked the British man.

Just then Grover could see a sorrowful expression appear on her face. "Intelligence aside, you were always very dumb, but you have also been a good listener," she said and sat down on a nearby table with the pistol still pointed in his direction. "You're not the first man I've been assigned to deceive like this. I've done it to a few others before. I'm sick of this life." As she spoke tears began streaming down her face. "I don't think I'm doing the right thing. I want to get out, but I don't know how."

Grover could not tell if she was acting or telling the truth. She had no real reason to lie to him now if she was truly about to kill him. "You can defect. It's been done before. Obtain asylum in England or America," he suggested, proposing an idea and trying to talk his way out of getting shot at the same time.

"It won't work. My superiors in the SVR or the FSB will hunt me down and eliminate me," she replied. "My whole life is fake and empty. I've played so many roles that I don't know who I am now and it's too late to stop. All I do is deceive and destroy innocent people for a cause that is not my own." As she continued she began to sob uncontrollably. Grover was not a psychologist, but he knew signs of mental instability when he saw them and Vanya was clearly unstable. Her multiple lifestyles and covers had really taken a toll on her mind. He guessed she was trying to have one last real emotional connection with him before she killed him. He was certain that her accomplices were unaware of her mental state.

"Vanya, there's a way of out of this. You've just got to find it," he said.

At that moment the sorrow left Vanya's face. Her sobbing stopped. All her visible signs of emotion evaporated as she aimed the pistol at the Englishman's head.

"Wait, Vanya!"

The Professor's pleas were useless. She pulled the trigger. The pistol barely made a sound as it fired. The Professor's head jerked back as the round entered. His body went limp and collapsed on the floor lifelessly. The loudest sound during the whole process was that of an empty shell casing falling to the floor.

Vanya pulled out a tissue and wiped her tears away before she dragged his body into the vault and locked it. She quickly cleaned up the scene and departed.

* * *

**Red Crown: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Remember to review if you want me to update.**

NASA: National Aeronautics and Space Administration

SVR: _Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki_ (Foreign Intelligence Service) –The SVR conducts Russia's foreign operations.

FSB: _Federal'naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti_ (Federal Security Service) -The FSB is the Russian Federation's successor to the infamous KGB of the Soviet Union. The FSB deals with the Russian Federation's internal matters.

KGB: _Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti _(Committee for State Security) -The Soviet equivalent of the CIA.


	3. Surprise Trip?

CHAPTER THREE: _**"Surprise Trip?"**_

**Date: March 5, 2013**

**Time: 0000 hours, 12:00 A.M. **

**Location: United States, Arizona**

The olive drab bus continued its course along the rugged path, kicking up a storm of dust along the way. Barren desert land lay in all directions. The only sources of illumination were the headlights of the bus and the full bright moon.

However, to Southern California grown Tony Richardson, everything outside just seemed like a wall of black. Nineteen-year old Tony sat in the back of the bus that was to take him to God knows where. His paler than caramel skin was hidden by his olive drab uniform. The uniform bore no rank and fitted rather loosely over his tall, lean, muscular frame. His black hair was cut short. Piercing dark brown eyes scanned the Bible that he held in his hands.

_"The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever."_

The bus was ancient. Tony guessed it was made during the Vietnam Era. Discomfort was built into the seats, probably to keep him awake on purpose. The windows had metal meshing on them to stop enemies from throwing grenades in. The stench of rust was fresh in his senses. The hum of the engine sounded like a cow's moo caught in suspension. He and fourteen others, not including the driver, had endured these conditions for five hours. The only comfort Tony had was that he felt this was where God was leading him.

Tony had no idea why he was pulled from the Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps (NROTC) at the University of Southern California, but all that he knew was that it had something to do with a certain practice test. One navy officer offered him and an entire class of others a practice ASTB (Aviation Standard Test Battery) test. He said it was to better prepare him for the real thing. Tony probably wasn't going to take the ASTB for a while, but he decided some practice would be beneficial.

He arrived at the college class room which he was to take the test and took a seat as the test arrived for him. However, at the end of his test were a few questions that sparked his curiosity. None of them had anything to do with the ASTB.

If you would like to be a fighter pilot, how soon would you like to be flying?

a. I would not like to be a fighter pilot

b. I would like to do a few other things in the navy first

c. I would like to go through all of the standard procedure first

d. Send me up now

Tony only joined the NROTC for the purpose of being a fighter pilot. Ever since he went to an air show when he was four years old and saw the U.S. Navy flight demonstration team, the Blue Angels, in action all he ever wanted to do was fly fighter jets. He circled in "d" and turned the page. It continued on to read:

If you marked anything other than the answer "d" for the last answer please turn in your test. If you did mark "d," then continue on to the next questions.

If you were to go into combat, which jet would you prefer?

a. F-22A Raptor

b. F/A-18E/F Super Hornet

c. F-35A/B/C Lightning II

d. F-15E Strike Eagle

e. F-16C Fighting Falcon

Tony knew the best in dogfighting performance was the Raptor. However, he always felt drawn to the Super Hornet. He guessed it was because the Blue Angels were his child hood heroes and they flew older model Hornets. He circled in "b."

What is your religious preference?

a. Christian

b. Muslim

c. Atheist

d. Other

e. Non-religious

Tony was a born again Christian and he believed that the Bible was the absolute truth and that Jesus Christ was the only way to heaven. He marked "a."

What is your nationality?

a. Caucasian

b. African-American

c. Arabic

d. Pacific-Islander

e. other

Tony's mother was white and his father was black so he just marked both "a" and "b."

Do you have 20/20 vision?

a. Yes, I have 20/20

b. No, I have worse than 20/20

c. No, I have better than 20/20

d. Don't know

Tony had 20/10 vision, far above average. He circled in "c."

What is your martial status?

a. single

b. dating

c. married

d. divorce

Tony had never gone on a date. It had nothing to do with the way he looked. He knew that there was a woman out there for him and he knew that she would be brought to him in the perfect timing. However, he was entirely focused on his work so he often didn't have time for women. He circled in "a."

Is there anyone you stay in constant contact with?

a. family

b. friends

c. both a and b

d. No

Tony had few friends and his family did like to call once in a while, but it was only once a while, not constant contact. Most of the people he knew he only saw at church on Sunday mornings. The rest he met at college classes and NROTC. He decided to circle in "d."

How soon would you be able to leave for a surprise trip to Arizona?

a. Within a few months or longer

b. Within a few weeks

c. Within a few days

d. Tomorrow

Tony lived in a dorm. He was basically living off the paycheck that came from the NROTC program. He didn't have too many possessions. He could leave whenever he needed, but He would need to come back right away to continue his classes. Guessing that counted, he circled in "d." Without a second thought he turned in the test and left.

The next thing he knew, the same officer who offered him the test came to the door of his dorm room at five o'clock in the morning two days later and told him that if he wanted to be a fighter pilot as soon as possible he had better show up at a military bus stop with his bags packed. He was also told that if he did decide to show up his college years would basically be put on hiatus. He then handed Tony a plain olive drab uniform and a certificate with the official markings of the United States Navy, Marine Corps, and Air Force, telling him that he had been accepted to the Accelerated Combat Aviator Training Experiment.

He went to the bus stop. When he arrived he found fourteen other guys were also at the stop, bags in hand and olive drab uniforms dawned. No words were shared between them as the bus showed up and they boarded. Some of them asked the bus driver where they were going and to that he only answered "Arizona." They asked him to be more specific, but he wouldn't.

So now Tony was enduring a long bus ride to a place of which he did not know. He was beginning to wonder if this was all just a big hoax and he had been suckered into it. He put down his Bible and pulled the certificate back out of his duffle bag to examine the markings one more time. He was not an expert, but they _looked_ authentic. Along with the markings was a short paragraph below:

_You have been accepted to the Accelerated Combat Aviator Training Experiment. The Accelerated Combat Aviator Training Experiment is a joint experiment by the United States Air Force, United States Navy, and United States Marine Corps to take new rookies fresh from the Reserve Officer Training Corps world and turn them into fighter pilots. You will receive top training in your field from expert pilots with years of experience. You will be promoted to active duty immediately after your training. Unlike the required eight years of service that you would have done had you finished through ROTC, you will be obligated to serve your country for ten years. The choice is entirely up to you. If you wish to enter the Accelerated Combat Aviator Training Experiment, then please sign and follow the instructions of the officer designated to you._

At the bottom was a line that held his signature along with another note that read: _This document is deemed classified and any leakage of information will be punished._

_"This is just great,"_ he thought, filled with sarcasm. _"What exactly have I gotten myself into?"_ he wondered.

"Hi, my name's Nathan Zachary," said the man in the seat across from him. Tony looked up to find a Caucasian man with bright green eyes and messy dark brown hair extending his hand towards him.

"Tony Richardson," he responded and shook his hand.

"So do you think this is real or do you think we've been suckered into one big hoax?" he asked.

"I was just wondering about that myself. I guess we'll find out soon enough," he replied.

"What ROTC program were you in?"

"Navy."

"So you want to fly off aircraft carriers?" he asked

"Yeah."

"Why on earth would you want to be on an aircraft carrier? They suck," Nathan said, "When the shooting starts you'll be on a big metal target with no where to go."

The man in the seat behind Tony leaned in between them. The guy wore an army green cap that was pulled over his eyes so that only the lower half of his face was showing.

"That 'big metal target' has a top speed of over twenty knots and has enough fire power to turn the state of Colorado, along with your lousy Air Force Academy, into a parking lot," said the individual with a light Chinese accent.

"Hi, my name's Pat," he said and extended a hand to both of them. Smooth raven hair stuck out from the hat. His skin was fair and Asian.

Tony shook his hand and introduced himself. Nathan did the same. Pat's hands were surprisingly soft and warm.

"And what ROTC program did you come from? Let me guess; Air force?" Pat asked Nathan.

"Yep," he answered.

"And you thought we were stupid. A base doesn't move anywhere and is a magnet for terrorists these days," said Pat.

Nathan shrugged casually. "You're just jealous cause I'll be flying F-15s."

"Jealous? Only in your wet dreams, Zachary," replied Pat.

Just then they began to feel the bus slow down. Tony looked outside the window. Only by dim moon light, he was able to see shadows that resembled an airstrip, five hangers, and a control tower outside. Excitement and anticipation weld up inside him. Everyone else on the bus began looking out their windows and letting their eyes run across the base. Many of them began searching for fighter planes, but there were none visible.

The bus continued along a dirt path that went along side the base until it stopped between another bus and an old building. The building was plain and had a single floor with a large red "A" marked on its side. A man in a flight suit was standing in the doorway. Light pooled out from the inside of the building and silhouetted the man's face.

The bus driver less than politely told everyone to get off the bus. This was their stop.

Everyone got their luggage and exited the bus. All of them began stretching and groaning. The ride had not been pleasant. Everyone, including Tony, gathered in front of the building with the "A" mark. It was freezing cold outside. Tony noticed as his breathe became visible. The air was crisp and cool. The smell of burning jet fuel reached his nose and he could taste it in the atmosphere. The man in the flight suit told them to come inside before he went in. The men eagerly followed suit.

The inside of the building was a room about two times the average size of a high school class room. Several rows of chairs were placed in the center, all of them facing a large white board with several small model planes on sticks and maps of the area around the base. Already in the chairs were about twenty other guys, olive drab uniforms also worn. They all took a seat. It was cold in the room as well.

The man in the flight suit went to stand in front of the white board; with him were three other guys in flight suits. All of their flight suits had different markings, each of a different aircraft. They were all in their thirties. It wasn't hard to figure out that they were instructor pilots.

"Everyone, listen up!" said the man whose flight suit bore the markings of an F-16 pilot, "My name is Captain Mark Brown. I am one of your instructor pilots. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Nacimiento Air Force Base, home of the Accelerated Combat Aviator Training Experiment. Here you will be trained around the clock in the art of aerial warfare." Brown's light brunette hair was well combed. His skin could easily be confused for vanilla ice cream. He had eyes that resemble hazel nuts. At that moment a devious smirk appeared on his face. "We're gonna turn you boys and girls into fighter pilots even if it kills you." In his hand was a cup of coffee, taken black. He took a slow lasting sip.

The second pilot whose markings were that of an F/A-18 instructor stepped forward. In his mid thirties, he was short, but well built and athletic. His short hair was smooth and naturally white. His skin was pale and ghostly. He wore a stone expression on his face. His cold blue gaze went around the room, making eye contact with everyone as he spoke. "My name is Lieutenant Commander James Morrison. The main idea of this program is to train future Air Force, Navy, and Marine pilots in different airframes against each other to produce fighter pilots with excellent dogfighting experience. I am trained for the F/A-18, so those of you assigned to a Super Hornet will be trained under me. Those assigned to the F-16 will be trained under Captain Brown; the F-22, Major Zander; the F-35, Captain Jones; the F-15, Captain Baker," he said, no emotion in his voice. For a moment his eyes rested on Tony and the student suddenly felt a cold chill run down his spine.

"Once you are assigned an aircraft, you will be trained only with those assigned to the same aircraft. However, being trained with experts and with a variety of aircraft has many advantages that you cannot get in regular training. You will learn the advantages of fast aircraft, slow aircraft, maneuverable aircraft, and stealth aircraft and how to use them against each other." said Zander.

Zander, the F-22 instructor, bared a striking resemblance to Arnold Schwarzenegger only with a mustache and glasses. There was almost a swagger to the way he stood. He held a list of something, most likely names, in his hand. "When I call out your name hand your certificate of acceptance to Jones," he said in calm and unnerving voice, motioning towards the F-35 instructor.

Jones, the F-35 instructor, was a tall, muscular black man. Standing straight up, he appeared as a tower in the middle of a city surveying all that was within eye's reach.

"Where's the F-15 instructor, sir?" asked Nathan.

Zander lazily pointed to a door next to the white board that was labeled "Instructor Discussion Room."

One by one Zander call out everyone's name. One by one everyone handed their certificate to Jones.

"Patricia Ironheart," he called out. Pat slowly stepped forward and walked over to Jones.

"Patricia? That's a girl's name," Nathan whispered to Tony.

As Pat approached Jones to hand him the certificate, Morrison told Pat to take off the hat because it wasn't part of the uniform. It was then that Tony and Nathan realized Pat was not a man, but a somewhat flat-chested and lanky woman! When she removed the hat her long silky hair fell down. The upper half of her face was unveiled and her Chinese features became visible.

Tony and Nathan were slightly shocked.

"No wonder I found myself curiously attracted to her," Nathan whispered to Tony.

Once everyone had finished handing in their slips Zander opened his mouth to say something, but was immediately cut off by someone shouting in the Instructor Discussion Room.

"What do you mean there isn't another Starbucks for ten miles! They have them right across from each other on the street! How can the nearest one be ten miles away!... I'm not driving that far for coffee!"

The conversation was immediately followed by the sound of a phone slamming on a receiver. The door opened and the F-15 instructor stepped in. He was in his early thirties. His hair was a lively shade of red and had been messily combed backward. His skin was well tanned. His eyes were an unreal shade of blue.

"Welcome to the first briefing, Baker," said Zander nonchalantly, not even bothering to look up from his paper.

Scowling, Baker walked next to the other instructors.

"Cheer up, man. I'll make you some coffee," said Brown.

"Not a chance in hell, Brown. Everything you make tastes like it came from a latrine," he replied. His attention turned toward the trainees. "These the FNGs?" he asked, surveying the room.

Tony and Nathan exchanged looks letting the other know that they didn't know what the acronym "FNG" stood for.

"We were just briefing them on the training. Anything you want to add?" asked Morrison.

Baker then turned to the new comers. "I'm here for you F-15 guys. By that I mean: you guys with style," he said and earned a laugh from the room. He then went to a map of an over headshot of Nacimiento Air Force Base. "Anyway you are now in building 'A,' which we use as the briefing room," he said and pointed to it on the map. "Buildings 'B,' 'C,' and 'D' are dorm rooms where you'll stay for the night. The boys will be in 'B' and 'C', while the females will be in 'D.' Buildings 'E,' 'F,' and 'G' are dorms for the maintenance personal. Building 'H' holds aircraft equipment. Building 'I' is the instructor's. Building 'J' is the bar. Yes, they have alcohol and plenty of it, but it's only for guys who have their wings so none of you will be able to touch that stuff for while..."

As Baker continued to point to various buildings designated by letters and stated their purpose Nathan whispered to Tony, "I think we'll have some interesting fireside chats with Jeremiah Weed," he said.

Tony had no idea who Jeremiah Weed was or what he meant by the gesture as a whole. "Who is Jeremiah Weed?" he asked.

"He'll be your best friend within a couple of days," Nathan replied with a smile.

Tony didn't know what that meant either so he dismissed the reply and turned his attention back to the F-15 instructor.

"…And if you can't see the hangers and control tower you really shouldn't be here, because good vision's a requirement." Baker finished and earned another laugh from the trainees.

Once he was finished Morrison pulled out a small remote control and pushed a button on it. The room went dim and a small door opened from the center of the ceiling. Slowly, mechanical arms lowered a projector into the room. Morrison pushed another button and a moving picture was placed upon the white board.

All eyes fell on the image of an F-16 making its way to the runway. The plane was coming in fast, too fast. The only audio coming from the image was some guy over the radio yelling at him to slow down. The pilot tried to slow down, but he wasn't able to deaccelerate fast enough. The landing gear hit the runway and broke. The momentum that the plane had already built up caused it to twist sideways and roll on its side. Both wings were smashed quickly and as the plane continued to roll it threw parts of itself everywhere. After rolling nearly two miles the plane finally slowed down and came to a halt on its back. Right after that it exploded in a burst of orange flame. The pilot did not get out. Then the screen went black.

Morrison pushed another button and a new image became visible.

It was an F-35B, the Short-Take-Off Vertical Landing (STOVL) version of the Lightning II, on a Tarawa-class amphibious assault ship at sea. The lift fan doors opened up and the nozzle vectored down towards the deck of the ship, indicating it was going to attempt to take off vertically. However, as the aircraft started to lift off the ground the pilot tried to turn the aircraft towards his heading. He made the mistake of applying too much twist of the stick in his turn. Tony and the rest of the students watched as the aircraft slowly rolled upside down and smashed itself into another F-35 on the deck. Both jets erupted in flames. Neither of the pilots got out.

Morrison pushed another button on the remote to reveal a new image.

From the inside of the cockpit of an F-22, the camera was facing backwards looking at the pilot and the sky behind him. He was flying at tree top level during some sort of air exercise. The pilot began to make a sharp turn, but wasn't ready for the load of G-forces that the turn produced on his body. He blacked out instantly and lost control of the plane. The blue sky filled the back of his canopy, then the film turned into a blur of static. Next came of a series of pictures of the crash site. The pilot was vaporized instantly and there was nothing left of his body.

Morrison's finger struck another button on the remote.

This time it was an air-to-air shot with the camera being held by a fighter jet following an F-15E Strike Eagle. It was during a mock dogfight exercise. The Eagle was maneuvering against an F/A-18E Super Hornet. The pilots got too close and everyone watched in horror as both planes collided with each other going at near mach speeds. All three occupants went to the ground in one large burning wreck.

Tony could see Nathan wince at the impact out of the corner of his eye.

Morrison pushed another button and to everyone's relief the projector was retracted into the ceiling and the room was lit once again.

The room fell silent and time itself seemed to pause.

"None of those pilots survived," said Zander flatly.

"No shit," the class members echoed as they shook their heads.

"If anyone wants out, tell us right now," he said.

The room remained silent. Occasionally, pilots did bail out after seeing films such as that, but no one from this class was intimidated that easily. None of the guys took the bait.

"That's all for now. We start training at 0700 hours, which means you guys have about six hours to get some sleep. Dismissed," he finished.

The trainees exited building 'A' talking excitedly about aircraft, training, the instructors, and whatever else came to mind.

As they entered their dorms everyone picked a bed and unpacked. Tony set himself up by a lower bunk that was next to the door. He thought it was perfect because it was in a corner and had a window right next to it. He then kneeled by the bed, placed his hands together, and began to pray.

"Dear Lord Jesus, I know that you are in control of all things. It is only by your guidance that I have this opportunity to become a fighter pilot. I surrender my path and future to you and give you all the glory for this achievement. Right now I ask that you would protect me as I go through training, protect all my peers, and help us to absorb and memorize all the information that is taught to us. I also ask that you would keep me humble and focused on being pleasing to you, lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from any evil that I may face. Help me to be a good witness and a complete reflection of who you are. In your name I pray. Amen," he prayed.

He was about to go to bed when Nathan, who was on the bunk above him, asked, "Were you just praying?"

"Yeah, I always pray before I go to bed." he replied.

"Really? I used to go to church. Why would you join the military? Isn't it a sin to kill someone?"

"No, that's murder, or killing something innocent uselessly. Killing someone in warfare is not a sin," he replied.

"Whatever, man. You better get some sleep. We have a bunch of classes tomorrow and you don't want to be half awake when they're teaching something that's necessary to survive," he said before turning over.

Tony climbed into bed and tried his best to get some sleep. As he did so someone across the room began to snore ridiculously loud.

_"This is not going to be a restful night,"_ he thought.

* * *

**Red Crown: Please remember to review and tell me what you think. The more reviews I get the sooner I update.**

Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps (NROTC)

ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery)

Short-Take-Off Vertical Landing (STOVL)

FNG: "(Expletive) New Guy"


	4. Fence In

Author's Note: I would like to let it be known that much of the section below I am using from an article written by a US Air Force fighter pilot that he wrote about his training with his permission. I have highly modified much of it to fit my story, but the basics are the same.

P.S.: Thanks, JD.

_"If we desire to avoid insult, we must be able to repel it; if we desire to secure peace, one of the most powerful instruments of our rising prosperity, it must be known, that we are at all times ready for War._ " -General George Washington

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR: _**"Fence In"**_

**Date: March 7, 2013- August 13, 2015**

**Location: United States, Nacimiento Air Force Base, Arizona**

Tony was surprised at how different their training went from normal Navy and Air Force pilots. The Navy training was heavily mixed in with the Air Force Training. Unlike most pilots, they kept the instructors that they had throughout the entire course of the training and because the classes were very small considered to other fighter pilot classes, they only needed one highly experienced pilot for each class. Nacimiento Air Force Base was actually designed to train Navy pilots as well. Unlike most Air Force and Navy pilots, who travel around the country to be trained, Nacimiento Air Force base had almost everything needed for training right there on the base. They only needed to be trained off the base for anything that involved being "feet wet" or being over water as it was called.

The first phase of pilot training was purely academics, learning the elementary concepts of flight and navigation. The next phase was basic flight in the T-6 Texan II, a tandem-seat turboprop trainer. It was in this aircraft that Tony, Nathan, and Pat as well as all the other trainees were taught the fundamentals of takeoff, landing, and instrument flight.

The first flight in pilot training is traditionally called a "dollar ride," a term which is sometimes applied to the first flight in any flight training program in a new aircraft. The student is so clueless and the IP (instructor pilot) has to demonstrate and thus fly so much that the student is essentially a passenger. Traditionally, the student gives the IP of his first sortie a dollar bill as a "tip" for the ride. The dollars are often decorated with magazine clippings, phrases, or other details that might characterize the flight, the student, or the IP. The journey from the "dollar ride" to the first solo was amazingly short.

Only one month after Tony's first flight, he soloed for the first time in a Navy plane. He took off with an IP first; after the IP was confident that Tony could fly without killing himself or getting him in trouble, they landed and shut down the engine. The IP climbed out, Tony restarted the engine, and he launched again with an empty seat behind him. Flying alone for the first time inspired confidence, though it was somewhat unnerving. It was well known that solo student pilots would hear noises and feel things in the plane that they never experienced before. There wasn't anything wrong with the plane; the solo pilots were simply more "aware" of every creak and groan of the aircraft. After Tony landed from his first solo flight he was carried by fellow classmates to the "solo pool," a small swimming pool where all the student pilots who had successfully soloed were dunked. Thus began his flying career.

Morrison, the F/A-18 instructor, bared the callsign "Bulldog." Tony soon found out why. Of all the Instructor Pilots, he was the meanest. While flying with Tony on one flight he said, "I have the aircraft," and took control away from the student. He said, "Take a look at yourself in the mirror." T-6s had adjustable rearview mirrors in the cockpit. Tony shifted the mirror to look at himself, expecting to see something wrong with his helmet or mask. To his surprise, Morrison said, "Now isn't that one of the coolest things you've ever seen? You're a pilot, flying a Navy aircraft. You are getting paid to do what others would pay money to do. Now you _are_ that pilot that you always thought was so cool." He gave Tony a moment to admire the profile of his face in the helmet, with the aircraft just behind him and the Arizona landscape far below; then he said, "You have the aircraft. Now stop screwing up."

The instructors modeled the classic characteristics of the fighter pilot personality. They were aggressive, terse, and blunt. Here Tony first learned that fighter pilots need to have a "thick skin," because criticisms were not couched in pleasant words but were delivered with severity. It was not meanness for meanness' sake; but they were very critical and demanding in a harsh way, at least from the viewpoint of a young student pilot. The criticism did have a purpose: the second track of pilot training was not to teach the basics but the foundations of flying a tactical aircraft. Tony and the other trainees flew more solo sorties, learned formation flying, and executed what was called "fluid maneuvering," basically a very elementary form of dogfighting. Besides the flying, they were taught to frame their thought processes in the same terms as a fighter pilot.

Most US military fighters are single-seat aircraft, which means most fighter pilots spend their time as solo "aircraft commanders" flying in formation with another solo pilot. The two-seat F-15E is an obvious exception as well as the Navy's F/A-18F and EA-18G. When the trainees had upgraded to the T-38, a super sonic jet trainer, the IPs soon emphasized the need for the fighter pilot-to-be to execute the complete mission without assistance. Some IPs would sit quietly in the back and not say a word during the entire flight.

After pilot training Tony and the other trainees still had several training classes to accomplish. Since the Air Force, Navy, and Marine Corps now knew what aircraft each student was going to fly they could send them to training tailored to their specific airframe. For example, fighter pilots went through slightly different water survival training than heavy pilots; most fighter pilots would probably eject and be alone, while heavies might ditch and have a crew. In the case of resistance training, training for conduct if they became a prisoner of war (POW), there were "special" courses for pilots assigned to aircraft with intelligence missions. All Academy graduates had completed the forest survival portion of SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape) while they were cadets; the resistance portion of the course had been removed from the cadet syllabus after a scandal occurred and was broadcast on national TV. They went to water survival at Pensacola Naval Air Station, Florida.

A more significant milestone specific to the fighter pilot is attending the centrifuge, a dastardly machine. Made famous by its amusement park portrayals in various movies, the centrifuge was not nearly as fun to actually experience. Future F/A-18 pilots were required to stay conscious under a force of 7.5 "Gs" for 10 seconds. A person sitting or standing experiences 1 G, or a force equal to gravity. At 7.5 Gs, a 200 pound person feels as though they weight 1,500 pounds. Though significant, the increased "weight" was bearable. The more challenging aspect of G forces is that the outward forces cause a pilot's blood to pool in his legs and feet. The potential result is a lack of sufficient blood to the brain which causes a blackout under G, called a "G-induced Loss of Consciousness," or G-LOC (pronounced Gee-Lock).

Tony felt that the specialists had done a good job of teaching the proper techniques and gave him equipment to wear in the form of a chap-like "g-suit." Much as the movies showed, he was seat-belted into a cubicle that simulated a cockpit. The cockpit was on the end of a long arm that spun at amazing speeds, compressing him under increased gravity (G) forces. Sustaining Gs in the centrifuge was significantly more difficult than in the actual aircraft and was extremely physically demanding. It was a "rite of passage" that Tony would not want to repeat.

After completing those various training classes Tony went to the Introduction to Fighter Fundamentals (IFF) course on the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln. There he and the other Navy students flew T-45s, a carrier based trainer designed specifically to train carrier based pilots, and learned the basic concepts of dogfighting and bomb dropping as well as carrier operations. The emphasis was formation flying, basic fighter maneuvers, and ground attack.

After completing IFF, Tony returned to Nacimiento Air Force Base and was assigned to the F/A-18E/F B-course (Basic course). It was a six month class that started with the fundamentals of taking off and landing in the F/A-18E and finished with tactics and using the F/A-18E as a weapon.

Tony will never forget the time he first saw his plane. He was in one of the hangers. He looked outside the open hanger doors. Arizona was mostly a desert and very rarely did it rain or cloud with fog. But that day weather took some freak turn around and it was extremely foggy. The humid air was mixed with the scent of burning jet fuel, which Tony had grown used to by now. The sound of the maintenance crew working on the T-38s was all that separated him from silence.

Just then he heard the roar of jet engines through the sky. This roar was much different than that of a T-38 or T-45. It was far more powerful, louder, and even shook the ground beneath him. He decided to go outside and take a look around, but he could see nothing in the fog. He heard four of them fly over him. Then the roaring thunder seemed to trail far off into the distance.

Just then he heard the thunder again, very low and coming towards him. A light beamed through the fog and illuminated the airstrip. The light was coming closer, growing in size and in brightness. A silhouette formed behind the light. Slowly unveiled from the fog appeared a long narrow fuselage, proud broad wings, canted tailfins, and twin engines designed for a power hungry aircraft. Its rugged landing gear pounded the airstrip as it touched down. After bleeding off speed it made an arrogant, sharp turn and headed straight for Tony, who could only watch in amazement. It slowly crawled its way toward him before stopping only five feet away, seeming as if to rest there and let him gaze and admire. The canopy opened and the pilot clad in flight gear stood up.

"Move it, stooge! I need to get into the hanger," he said.

It was then that Tony realized he was standing between the jet and the hanger entrance. Quickly he moved out of the way. The pilot sat back down, shut the canopy, and slowly began to park his jet into the hanger. Behind him, Morrison approached to admire the jet. One at a time five other Super Hornets landed and parked into the hanger.

Tony, not taking his eyes away from the jets, asked Morrison, "Whose planes are these?"

Even among the roar of the engines he could hear the calm response, "They're yours," before Morrison turned around and disappeared heading in the direction of Building "A."

Tony's face became lit with a smile that plastic surgery couldn't remove.

It was later that he learned the aircraft for his squadron as well as all the aircraft for the other squadrons on Nacimiento were used aircraft that had already had years of service. They had been retrofitted to feature all the latest upgrades and enhancements. They were being flown in by pilots who were mostly in their middle ages or fifties and were either retiring from military service or advancing too high in rank to continue flying. The flight here was their last flight ever in a tactical aircraft. A helicopter came and took them away not too long after landing.

Tony examined the plane that he thought was going to be his. Its metal and composite skin was neatly kept and showed some signs of aging. The light from outside the hanger reflected beautifully off the canopy.

The student pilot slowly walked along the fuselage and let his hand glide over the body. Touching the cold metal gave him sensations of power and strength. As he got to the nose he could tell by the markings where it was from.

The plane already bared the insignias of the squadron VFA-137 "Kestrels." It had the number 212 on its upper nose. In black italicized writing underneath the cockpit it read: _CWO2 Kelly Archer "Flip."_

The next day he was assigned his jet. The number of the jet was 212.

The B-course progressed well, and Tony's training report said that he was an average to above average F/A-18E student. The B-course involved many long days and many long nights; it was intense in a different way than initial pilot training since the F/A-18E had significantly more systems which required greater systems knowledge. By this time, though, Tony was used to the rigor and the schedule of the training. What was new was the fighter pilot persona that was finally displayed in full force.

After the B-course normal pilots were upgraded to active duty. However, Tony and the other students were instead going to enter what was called the Advanced Air-to-Air Combat and Strike Course or "A3CS" before they were upgraded to active duty. The objective of the course: pure dogfighting and precision strike on targets heavily guarded by air defense networks. This was the primary reason for the Advanced Combat Aviator Training Experiment (ACATE).

No one expected what would happen right before A3CS. Somehow information about ACATE was leaked by accident to two foreign governments. Fortunately the governments were friendly since they happened to be Britain and Israel. Normally when there is a leak in any United States military program the government shuts it down automatically and vigorously investigates it. The only thing that stopped the government from shutting down ACATE was the fact that once the British and Israelis found out about it they wanted in on it. To turn down their request to participate would have had a negative effect on relations with the two allies so the US agreed to let them send some of their own fighter pilots and all the supply equipment they needed to join in ACATE.

Unfortunately, this made everything at Nacimiento Air Force Base extremely chaotic.

* * *

**Date: August 13, 2015**

**Time: 0500 hours, 5:00 A.M. (Eastern Daylight Time)**

**Location: United States, Nacimiento Air Force Base, Arizona**

Something about the air that morning was different. It seemed heavier than usual. The horizon glowed with the summer sun's brightness. The fumes from the previous day's exercises still hung in the crisp and dry atmosphere. The sky was clear as crystal. The desert terrain was flat for miles, but grew mountainous towards the east and south east. It was cool at the moment. However, the temperature would rise with the sun. No sound had yet to disturb the peaceful morning until...

"Chevy Zero-two to Tower, requesting permission to taxi."

"Tower to Chevy Zero-two, granted."

The hum of jet engines powering up sliced through the stillness. An F/A-18E Super Hornet crawled out of one of the hangers. The sunlight slowly stroked the jet from the nose to the nozzles, glistening off the canopy. All of the "Kestrels" squadron markings had been removed and the new markings now read: VFA-91 "Archangels." The squadron insignia was a winged halo with a crimson lightning bolt in the center of it. The black italicized writing underneath the cockpit now read: _LTJG Tony Richardson._

The pilot guided the jet along the yellow line on the concrete road that designated his taxi route. He was clad in flight gear. His helmet and oxygen mask were securely in place. He slowed down once he got on the runway and steered the nose of the jet to the far end.

"Chevy Zero-two to Tower, requesting clearance for take off."

"Chevy Zero-two, you are cleared for take-off."

Tony shoved the throttle to Military Power (max throttle without afterburner). He went from a crawl to a sprint and watched as the lines on the runway went from slowly passing by to quickly zipping by his view. His JHMCS climbed in speed. Once he reached 150 knots he gently pulled back on the stick. The aircraft responded smartly, pointing the nose up and crossing into the blue.

The plane had become an extension of his body, mind, and will. He could feel everything that it was feeling. He knew all that its sensors knew. It would respond to his desires and thoughts. He felt the gear lift off the ground and a sense of weightlessness engulfed him, the sense of flight. He was addicted to that sense.

When he got to 10,000 feet he gently lowered the nose to the horizon and banked west towards wave point Alpha to begin his Combat Air Patrol (CAP).

"Heading to wave point Alpha at angle (a measure of altitude where one equals one thousand feet) one-zero," he called out in his radio.

Soon enough another Super Hornet joined him off his left wing. "Fence in, FNG," said the lead pilot.

"Roger that, Bulldog," he replied.

Any pilot that had yet to receive their callsign was affectionately referred to as FNG.

The term "fence in" was the order to set his cockpit switches in order to prepare for combat. He did so.

He looked over at Lieutenant Commander James "Bulldog" Morrison. Bulldog was also clad in flight gear and his eyes were veiled by his visor. He was flying the two-seat model of the Super Hornet, the F/A-18F. Originally he had been given the two-seater for training purposes. In the back seat was Pat who was operating as a RIO (Radar Intercept Officer).

"Contact, inbound from the northwest, two o'clock high, three-zero miles, angle eight," said Pat. "Sending IFF squawk."

If the IFF was positive there would be a tone, if not then there would not be a tone. There was no tone.

"IFF is negative. Cleared to engage," she said.

Tony immediately flipped the Master Arm switch and selected one of his eight virtual AMRAAMs that had been placed in his computer. He then switched on his APG-79 AESA radar and set it to TWS mode. He received a good tone on the bandit and fired.

"Fox three," he calmly said.

Right then a computer generated missile that was alive in their computers and radar, but had no physical presence was launched towards the target.

The bandit then went full after burner and turned hard right. Tony watched on his radar as the virtual missile continued to close in on the bandit. The target then went into a screaming dive and the missile passed buy it. He had missed, his weapon spoofed by the bandit's evasive maneuvering.

Tony then locked on him with another virtual AMRAAM, but before he could launch it his missile warning alarm went off signifying an incoming missile. The bandit had fired back.

"I'm spiked! Taking evasive action," he said over the radio.

Tony shut off his radar since having it on would attract the missile. He then switched on his ALQ-214 radar frequency countermeasures system, a "techniques generator" that determines an appropriate signal to counter an attacking missile. He lowered his nose toward the missile, exposing the Super Hornet's lowest radar cross section, the front, to the missile. When the missile got within two miles it was subdued by the jamming and Tony watched as it fizzled out on his RWR.

He flipped his radar back on and looked for the bandit. To his surprise his radar was clear.

"Pat, where did he go?" he asked.

"We've lost contact too," replied Pat.

Now this bandit knew where they were, but they didn't have a clue as to where it was. They had to move away from the spot that they were at to keep the bandit guessing.

"Form up on my wing," said Bulldog.

Tony joined up on Bulldog's wing and turned off his radar. An active radar made an excellent target so it was best to have it off as much as possible. They made their way to where they last saw the bandit on radar. Bulldog was the only one who kept his radar on and let it search the sky while Tony scanned with his eyes.

For a brief moment Tony thought he saw something move down below him. He slowly rolled his plane on its side to get a better look, when suddenly a blur of grey camouflage shot up right through their formation.

"Bandit six o'clock high!" Tony shouted into his radio.

However, Bulldog and Pat merely said, "We're angels."

The term was ACATE lingo for "We're dead."

Tony quickly pieced together what happened. He realized that the bandit had been using terrain masking, flying low and through the mountains to hide from his flight's radar. When the bandit fired at them the first time it was merely its way of luring Tony's flight to the right spot before it shot up from their underside. The bandit must have locked onto Bulldog while it was coming up and killed him with a virtual heat-seeking missile. The only way that Bulldog and Pat knew they were dead was a tone in their cockpit that went off whenever they were hit with a virtual missile. This adversary was good. Now Tony was left to face the enemy alone.

He caught sight of his enemy who was in a climb above and behind him. A wave of adrenaline coursed through his blood.

It was slightly smaller than his Super Hornet. Twin engines provided it with strength while a delta wing and canards provided it with grace. A scheme of light grey was about its body and its wings proudly wore the roundels of the Royal Air Force. The bandit was a British EF-2000 Typhoon II.

The Typhoon was pulling its nose downward towards the Super Hornet. Tony went into a climbing hard right bank, bleeding off speed. His goal was to draw his opponent into a slow-speed turning fight where the F/A-18 was almost unbeatable. The Typhoon was swiftly coming down on him from his four o'clock. It had selected its gun and Tony could see a stream of virtual 23mm rounds race towards him in the heads up display (HUD) on his helmet. The stream whizzed by his right and missed. The Typhoon was coming down too fast and overshot him from behind.

The Super Hornet pilot reversed his turn, now banking downward and to the left inside his enemy. The Typhoon was about one kilometer away from him, too close for missiles. He selected his Vulcan 20mm, which was loaded with 570 rounds of computer simulated ammunition, and set his radar to GACQ mode. The British pilot was now turning up into him. Tony countered the move and they both developed into a rolling scissors.

A rolling scissors, where two planes end up in spiraling twin paths, was a game of daring in which the goal was to bleed off as much speed as possible to slide behind the enemy without stalling. The pilot must push his plane to the razor's edge of sustained flight, increasing or decreasing thrust as needed. It was like two people trying to stay balanced on soccer balls. Someone was bound to mess up.

Tony looked up in his cockpit at his adversary and could see the control surfaces on the Typhoon adjust for slow speeds, the world rapidly rolling behind it. His eyes shifted to the pilot. The pilot, clad in olive drab with a similar helmet to his own and white gloves, was looking back at him, determined blue eyes viciously locked with his own.

Fortunately for Tony, slow speeds were where the Super Hornet performed its best. Tony cut the throttle back even more slightly. The Typhoon attempted to do the same thing and stalled, the exact opening that he was looking for. Its nose went earthward and its altitude fell. The American then increased the throttle and pulled up for some distance to aim. When he had enough distance he shoved the stick forward and came down on the Typhoon as it was recovering. With a good radar lock he ran the bore sight along the Typhoon's fuselage and squeezed the trigger for a full second.

Had the bullets been real, one-hundred 20mm rounds would have torn through the Typhoon's body as well as the pilot. The enemy would not have gotten out.

"Knock it off. Knock it off," said Bulldog over the radio.

The exercise was over and it was a score of 1-1. The British pilot got one kill while Tony got him. The sense of excitement and the thrill was addicting. He loved doing what he was doing. In fact, he was practically obsessed with it.

* * *

**Red Crown:** **Hope you enjoyed the chapter. The more reviews I get the sooner I update.**

IP (instructor pilot)

prisoner of war (POW)

SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape)

G-induced Loss of Consciousness or G-LOC (pronounced Gee-Lock)

Introduction to Fighter Fundamentals (IFF) course

B-course (Basic course)

Advanced Air-to-Air Combat Course (A3C2)

Advanced Combat Aviator Training Experiment (ACATE)

LTJG (Lieutenant Junior Grade: an O-2 Paygrade in the United States Navy)

Military Power (max throttle without afterburner)

Combat Air Patrol (CAP)

angle (a measure of altitude where one equals one thousand feet)

RIO (Radar Intercept Officer)


	5. Decisions

_"The Americans had no choice but to accept their failure in stopping Iran's nuclear achievements."_ -Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei- January 3, 2008

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE: _**"Decisions"**_

**Date: August 13, 2015**

**Time: 0800 hours, 8:00 A.M. (Eastern Daylight Time)**

**Location: United States, Nacimiento Air Force Base, Arizona**

The debriefing was short and direct, just like the actual engagement was.

"I look forward to our next engagement. Dismissed," the British Pilot finally finished.

Pat and Bulldog quickly placed their notes in their binders and left. Tony organized his own notes and headed for the door.

He then went towards his dorm. On his way there he came across a bunch of fighter pilots huddled in a circle and chanting. He knew all too well that it was a naming sequence.

Basically, for a fighter pilot to get his callsign he had to go through an "initiation" process that began with an immense amount of drinking and a round of golf. Those who would not drink alcohol were required to drink disgusting concoctions of various drinks of the squadron's choosing or imbibe immense amounts of highly caffeinated beverages. After each hole in the game of golf, they were required to yell a phrase that was related to the score, most of which were vulgar and ripe with cursing. After words they had to run through an obstacle course that was part of the base. There were various trivia questions along the way and various drinking penalties associated with the course and the trivia. The final portion of the initiation involved eating various foods that under normal conditions were tasteful, but mixed together were revolting. The next step was to drink from the "chalice," which was yet another excuse to consume large amounts of alcohol. After that, pilots were required to "consume the ovum," basically a whole, raw egg. The source of that tradition, Tony did not know. What he did know was that at a previous Naming a pilot had contracted salmonella; as a protective measure, at future namings the flight doctor gave the new guys an antibiotic at the beginning of the naming.

Finally, after singing the squadron song, which was rife with cursing and sexual references, and being asked a bunch of questions such as "Why are you here?" and "Why do you want to be a part of the squadron?" the pilot was then given his nickname.

The Naming was so demeaning, degrading, and immature that Tony swore he would never go through it. He always avoided the namings.

Tony was worried that higher officers might discipline his fellow pilots and break up the Namings since the American pilots represented the country while the British and Israeli pilots were here, but once they found out that some of the British pilots and some of the Israeli pilots were participating they decided to let them continue.

Tony was torn on how much to participate in the raucous revelry of his fellow combatants. It wasn't good to totally separate himself from the others: those with whom he worked were the same with whom he would fly into combat.

Once he entered his dorm he picked up his Bible and headed for the bar, which was abandoned at the moment. He entered and was greeted with the neon light designs along the inside walls. Tables and chairs were littered about the room. Windows were only built into the wall that faced the runway. A large plasma screen TV rested opposite of the doorway. To the right was the counter and behind it were shelves of assorted beers, wines, and other alcoholic beverages. Left of the entrance was a vending machine.

Tony put a dollar in the vending machine and pressed the button for water. A Fiji water bottle came out. Tony grabbed his water and sat down at the table closest to the TV, which was off at the moment. He opened his Bible and began to read it.

Nothing interested Tony more than Biblical Prophecy. One thing that separated the Bible from the twenty-one other religious books in the world was that it was the only religious text to ever predict the future. No where in history was this more evident than in 1948 when Israel became a nation once again.

Israel first became a nation in 1312 B.C. The Jews conquered it completely in 1272 B.C. and ruled it for a thousand years and maintained a continuous presence there for 3,300 years. However, they were scattered about the globe by persecution from the Roman Empire, the Catholic Church, and other powers throughout time. Amazingly, though they had no nation of their own, the Jews were the only people to have ever remained an existent and identifiable race all throughout history. No one in the world would have predicted that they would become a nation again and be brought back to their homeland, yet in 1948, against all odds, Israel became a nation. Right after Israel became a nation several Arab states invaded, vowing to cleanse the land of Jewish presence. The Arab states had a combined population of around twenty million while the newly formed Jewish state's population did not exceed one million. The war ended in Israeli victory. The mere fact that the state of Israel existed at all was a miracle.

The next thing on the Biblical prophecy timeline was supposedly the Rapture, where Jesus Christ takes Christians off the earth and brings them to heaven, or the War of Gog and Magog that was foretold in Ezekiel 38 and 39. The war of Gog and Magog was a war that would happen after Israel became a nation in which evil thoughts would fill the leaders of the land of Magog and her allies and they would lead a massive invasion of Israel. Many ancient sources clearly identified "Magog" as referring to the "Scythians" which were the ancient ancestors of the Russians. The truth was that the Bible never said which would come first.

Christian theologians often spoke of the "doctrine of imminence." This meant that according to the Bible there was no prophetic event that had to happen before Jesus snatched his church from the earth. That was, the Bible taught that Christians should be ready for Jesus to come for them at any moment. Tony fully believed that. But it should have been noted with regard to this doctrine that while no major prophetic event had to happen before the Rapture, that didn't mean no such event would happen first. Perhaps the clearest evidence of this truth was the rebirth of Israel. This major prophetic event was foretold in Ezekiel 36 and 37, yet its fulfillment happened before the Rapture. Thus, it was certainly possible that other events, such as the events of Ezekiel 38 and 39, could happen before the Rapture as well.

Tony was about to start reading Ezekiel chapter 38 and 39, when suddenly a few fighter pilots, among them Nathan and Pat, came into the bar. They were talking excitedly about something to do with Russia. They each bought a drink of Jeremiah Weed and took a seat at one of the tables before they switched on the TV. The CNN news caught Tony's attention immediately.

A U.N. General Assembly was being addressed by the President of Russia, Sergei Chemezov. The camera showed the great halls of the U.N. and the ambassadors from the nations that it composed. In the center was a platform and on it stood the Russian President.

"Many issues confront us," said Chemezov.

"Some are regional. Some are economic, cultural, or social. But I believe we can all agree that the most pressing issue of our time is ridding the world of weapons of mass destruction and keeping them out of the hands of terrorists."

The General Assembly erupted in thunderous applause.

"Regretfully, some would seek to divide the great powers. Some would seek to pit the United States against Russia on the great issues of our time, but they must not be allowed to succeed. Yes, we have our differences. Yes, the debate over whether the United States should have gone to war against Iraq was one of them.

"But let there be no confusion: the Russian Federation never disagreed with the objective of the United States to rid Iraq of weapons of mass destruction. To the contrary, we have always shared the vision of making the Middle-East a nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons-free-zone. Our disagreement with the United States was never over vision. It was over the strategies and tactics needed to bring it to pass.

"Those in Moscow who preceded me took issue with the aggressive, unilateral approach the United States took, and what seemed to many in the international community to be Washington's hyperaccelerated timing.

"Perhaps they were wrong. Perhaps we were all wrong. Perhaps it is time to concede that regardless of our differences, the world is much safer now that Saddam Hussein is no longer in power and can no longer threaten the peace."

The great hall was silent for a moment. The delegates were too stunned to know how to react.

_The U.S. was right to go to war with Saddam? What could have provoked the President of Russia of all people to make such a statement?_ Tony could not help but wonder where the Russian President was heading with this.

"Today, however, I would submit that another Middle Eastern country is known to possess weapons of mass destruction. She operates in defiance of multiple U.N. resolutions. She has repeatedly attacked and invaded her neighbors. She has repeatedly violated the human rights of the people entrusted to her care. And she is widely seen as a threat not only to regional peace but to world peace. Regretfully, of course I speak of the modern State of Israel."

The General Assembly was completely silent.

"I say 'regretfully' because history records the great support the Russian people have given to the Jewish state from it inception. On May 17, 1948, the Kremlin officially recognized the newly born State of Israel. Russia was one of the first nations to do so. By August 9 of that year, the first diplomatic delegation from Moscow arrived in Tel Aviv. By September, Israel's first ambassador to Russia, the legendary Golda Meir, a remarkable woman who of course went on to become an Israeli prime minister, landed in Moscow and was welcomed by the more than half a million Soviet Jews."

"In the year since, Russia has allowed more than a million Jews to immigrate to Israel, despite strong opposition from our Arab and Muslim friends. We have also been a consistent partner for Middle East peace, helping Egypt and Jordan and the Palestinians work toward peace with Israel, and we will continue to play such a role in the future.

"But we must be honest. Only one country in the Middle East refuses to become a signatory to the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty: the State of Israel.

"Moreover, only one country in the Middle East is known to actually possess nuclear warheads: the State of Israel. They are not dreaming of them, designing them, or developing them. Israel has already deployed nearly three hundred nuclear warheads.

"Which begs the question: if the United States was able to persuade this body that Saddam Hussein was a threat worthy of international action, how can we allow a double standard for Israel?

"Some will argue that India, Pakistan, and Cuba have not joined the NPT either. They are right, and this is a great concern of mine. I am determined we can make tremendous progress in these area if we work together. Indeed, we have already done so.

"I have the great privilege of announcing to you that over the past few days I have been in talks with the Cuban government. I have been able to convince Havana to drop her long-standing concerns, and for the good of the global community and in the interests of world peace, I can now announce that the esteemed president of Cuba will join me immediately following this speech to officially become the NPT's 188th signatory."

The General Assembly exploded with a standing ovation.

"And this is just the beginning," Chemezov continued, raising his hands and asking for everyone to please retake their seats. "I am also pleased to announce that the presidents of India and Pakistan have agreed to a summit in Moscow in November. Together, we will discuss a de-escalation of tensions between the two countries. We will also begin work on a strategic-arms-reduction treaty, similar to the START I and START II my predecessors negotiated with the United States during the waning years of the Cold War. And it is my personal mission to persuade both India and Pakistan to become members of the Global community of NPT signatories within the next twelve to eighteen months."

This brought the house down-another standing ovation, which lasted for almost four minutes.

And now the Russian shifted gears. "Which brings us back to Israel- a rich country; a country currently living more securely than at any other time in her people's history; a powerful country with a strong army, an impressive air force, and the strength of the American superpower at her side. With all these assets, I ask you: why should such a country refuse to sign a treaty aimed solely at making the world a more peaceful and prosperous place for all mankind?

"When the United States went to war in Iraq, she did so, in part, because the regime of Saddam Hussein had defied sixteen U.N. Security Council resolutions. What, then, shall we say of Israel, which has defied _ninety-seven_ such resolutions since 1948?

"Permit me to reference an article in the American Newsmagazine _The Nation_. This article, entitle 'U.S. Double Standards,' notes _'the most extensive violator of Security Council resolutions is Israel.'_ The article goes on to point out that the U.S. has reached _'a new low in double standards'_ by vetoing thirty-nine of the last forty-three Security Council resolutions directed against Israeli violations of international law. In the only four resolutions not vetoed, the U.S. abstained.

"In the General Assembly as well, the U.S. consistently seeks to shield Israel from being held accountable for her illegal actions. At the turn of the millennium in the year 2000, for example, the U.N. General Assembly dealt with twenty-nine separate resolutions condemning Israeli violations of international law. Five were adopted without a recorded vote. But of the remaining twenty-four resolutions, the U.S. voted _no _nineteen times and abstained three times. Only twice did Washington deign to vote _yes_ to hold Israel accountable.

"Let me describe just one resolution that was considered that year: United Nations General Assembly Resolution 55/36. It warned that 'the proliferation of nuclear weapons in the region of the Middle East would pose a serious threat to international peace and security.' It called for a 'nuclear-weapon-free zone' in the Middle East. Furthermore, the resolution called upon Israel 'to accede to the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons without further delay... and to renounce possession of nuclear weapons, and to place all its unsafeguarded nuclear facilities under [the safeguards of the International Atomic Energy Agency.'

"A reasonable request, one would think. Yet the U.S. voted _no_. Why?"

All too soon it became clear where the Russian President was heading with this. Tony almost couldn't believe it. He continued to watch as the Russian leader moved in for the kill.

"Can the world morally justify one standard for Iraq and another for Israel? Is it right for the world to take action against a nation that defies sixteen Security Council resolutions, but do nothing against a nation that defies ninety-seven?

"Israel has answered decades of U.N. demands with decades of defiance. And now the world faces a test. The United Nations arrives at a difficult and defining moment. Are these resolutions to be enforced, or cast aside without consequence? Will the United Nations serve the purpose of its founding, or will it be irrelevant?

"Russia helped to give birth to the United Nations. We want the United Nations to be effective, and respectful, and successful. We want the resolutions of the world's most important multilaterally body to be enforced. And right now those resolutions are being unilaterally subverted by Israel. Our partnership of nations can meet the test before us by making clear what we now expect of the Israeli regime.

"If the Israeli regime wishes peace, it will immediately and unconditionally foreswear, disclose, and remove or destroy all weapons of mass destruction, long-range missiles, and all related material. Further, the Israeli regime must immediately allow IAEA and U.N. inspectors into is nuclear reactor at Dimona as well as all other nuclear, chemical, and biological research facilities.

"Toward this end, this afternoon Russia will introduce U.N. Security Council Resolution 2441, giving the State of Israel twenty days to comply with the steps I have just outlined. If Israel does comply fully, a new era of peace and prosperity will sweep the region, and the world will be more secure.

"But let there be no doubt: if Israel continues to go down the road of defiance, the international community will have no choice but to join together to enforce the U.N. resolutions related to Israel, just as the United States and her allies enforced the U.N. resolutions related to Iraq."

The Russian president left the platform. For a moment an awkward silence filled the great hall, but then the General Assembly erupted in a standing ovation that went on minute after minute. Nearly all the delegates were on their feet, applauding wildly. Then the camera caught the Israeli ambassador storming up the center aisle. As he exited, the view switched to the U.S. ambassador, who sat in stunned disbelief.

A political gauntlet had just been laid down. The Russian President was pushing for a war in the Middle East, a large war at that. Israel was in the cross hairs.

Tony looked back at his Bible, then the TV, then his Bible, then the TV again. "Uh oh," he said.

"Richardson." he heard someone whisper from behind him.

Tony turned to find Morrison's cold blue eye's staring right at him. He would have stood at attention immediately, but he knew that if that was important to Bulldog then he would not have quietly grabbed his attention. It was as if he didn't want the other fighter pilots to know what he was going to say to him.

"Grab Second Lieutenant Zachary and Lieutenant Ironheart and follow me," Bulldog said.

Tony went and found Nathan and Pat in the bar and motioned for them to come toward the door. All the other pilots were so focused on the events on the TV that they didn't notice the three slip away. The three fighter pilots followed Bulldog toward Building A.

"What's going on?" asked Nathan.

"I'm as clueless as you are," replied Tony.

"Maybe it has something to do with the news," said Pat.

When they entered Building A they found Second Lieutenant Jake "Romeo" Mafez already seated. His Latin appearance was what distinguished him from the other fighter pilots at Nacimiento. He had dark tanned skin, smooth black hair, and dark brown eyes resembling that of a puppy's. He was Nathan's WSO for his F-15E. He had a rather sanguine personality and got along well with Nathan since the first day they flew together. He had earned the callsign, "Romeo" because he not only attracted the attention of a lot of ladies, but he was usually very forward with the ladies that he was attracted to.

Pat looked at him with disgust. Omen had repeatedly made several advances toward her. She had spurned all of them. She thought he had horrible one liners and was extremely suspicious of men that were smooth talkers.

As soon as Omen saw Pat his face lit up.

"Hey there, beautiful," he said.

"Can it, Romeo," she said flatly.

"My dear, how many times have I told you to call me Jake," he replied.

Pat in response gave him an annoyed look. "Don't make me kick you in the groin. You know I will, _Romeo_," she replied.

Romeo shut his mouth and sat straight up in his seat.

The three pilots took a seat.

The door of the Instructor Discussion room opened and out walked Baker and Zander. Both looked extremely serious.

"What I am about to tell you does not leave this room," Bulldog began. "Baker, Zander, and I have been assigned a mission of the utmost importance, the likes of which is incredibly dangerous, but will save millions of innocent lives if it succeeds. We have been given the choice of who will accompany us on this mission. After reviewing your performance we have concluded that you guys are the pilots we want to take from this training outfit. Your participation is voluntary. Should you choose to accept, we will leave tomorrow at zero-five-hundred hours."

The four trainees were taken by surprise.

"How much time do we have to decide?" asked Romeo.

"Now," replied Baker.

"You expect us to just make the decision on demand without telling anyone? No last minute phone call? No letter home?" said Romeo.

"It's your choice. You can still say 'No.'" Baker said.

"How many innocent lives will be saved if we succeed?" asked Tony.

"Possibly millions," replied Baker.

"Count me in," Tony said with confidence. This was the primary reason that he had joined the U.S. military: to do the right thing.

There was a seemingly longer pause as Nathan, Pat, and Romeo were coming to their own decisions.

"Alright, I'm in," said Pat.

"Me too," said Nathan.

"I guess if Nathan's going, I'm going to have to follow him to make sure he doesn't fly into a wall," said Romeo.

Bulldog in response pulled the small projector remote out of his pocket while Baker and Zander quickly closed the windows and curtains of Building A. On Bulldog's command the lights went dim and the projector was lowered into the room. It placed an image on the white board. It was an image of Iran taken from a satellite. The view started to zoom in on the Persian Gulf. Slowly it went to a chunk of Iranian land that jutted out a few miles into the Gulf off Iran's southwest coast. The view then zoomed in on the southern part of the land. What became visible was a large facility with two huge circular structures near the center of it. Zander stood by the image and began to brief them.

"A few weeks ago there was a gun battle in New York City between New York's SWAT teams and terrorists from the global Islamic terrorist organization Hezbollah. After the SWAT teams defeated the terrorists, they found a suitcase-sized nuclear warhead that was in possession of the terrorists. After an examination of the device intelligence discovered that it was constructed in Iran. An Iranian manufacturer insignia was found on the inside of the case. We have also confirmed that Iran has been making nuclear weapons from their so called 'peaceful' nuclear program. Until recently, we have not had enough evidence to support a strike and Iran has been allowed to keep their nuclear technology. This is not public knowledge just yet."

That wasn't a surprise to any of the pilots.

The radical Islamic leaders of Iran wanted nothing more than to see, in Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's own words, "a world without Americans" and "Israel wiped off the face of the map." Hezbollah was a radical Islamic international terrorist organization that, if given the chance, would launch attacks of unimaginable proportions against the American people as well as that of any other democratic nation.

Iran claimed that its nuclear program was to produce energy for peaceful means. However Iran, the second most oil rich nation in the world, was practically floating on petroleum. Forty percent of Iran was oil and, as a result, gas cost only six cents a gallon in Iran. The Islamic Republic was overloaded with natural energy. It had no need for nuclear energy. Taking into account the fact that Iran was the number two state sponsor of terrorism, Hezbollah being their number one terrorist organization to supply weapons to, it was no surprise that a nuke would wind up in terrorist hands sooner or later.

"Iran's only known working nuclear plant is this one: The Bushehr Nuclear Power Plant," said Zander.

"This is the only place that the bomb could have come from. The plant was co-developed with help from Russia and it is still powered by nuclear fuel that is imported from Moscow. Officially, it is a nuclear power plant that produces power for Iranian cities. Unofficially, it is a nuclear bomb-making factory."

As the satellite image scanned the nuclear plant Tony noticed the plant did not even have one power line running to a single city in Iran. It was not even plugged into the power grid. The Nuclear reactors were active and producing enormous amounts of power, but the power sure was not going to the needs of the Iranian people.

Tony then recalled the Russian President's speech when he addressed the U.N. Security Council. Sergei Chemezov's actions betrayed his words. Whatever his goals were, they sure weren't for making a "nuclear-weapons-free-zone." Russia has been shipping nuclear technology to Iran for years. Under his rule Russia was still exporting nuclear materials to the Bushehr plant in Iran. The Russian President had different plans in mind for the Middle East as well as Israel.

Bulldog pressed a button on the remote and the image changed to an aircraft carrier that was rolling out to sea. He took over the briefing from Zander.

"The USS George H.W. Bush, CVN-77, set sail in the Atlantic a few days ago. She is currently crossing the coast of Oman. Her destination is the Persian Gulf. However, she had her whole fighter wing called home since their tour recently ended. Richardson, Ironheart, a few others, and I will be replacing that fighter wing tomorrow. We will conduct a long transatlantic flight from here to the Persian Gulf. Our tanker support will meet us over Missouri."

The image on the white board changed to a world map. A long red trail showed the path from Arizona to the Persian Gulf, a few thousand kilometers.

"The flight time is estimated to be ten and a half hours. Bring a good book, some lunch, and an IPOD if you have one. Once we're over Kuwait Zachary, Romeo, Baker, and Zander will land at Ali al Salim Air Base. Ali al Salim is an air strip given to the United States by the government of Kuwait in 1999. You will find the Kuwaitis very hospitable. However, Richardson, Ironheart, and myself will land on the Bush. We will be briefed on how to strike the nuclear bomb-making facility from our landing points."

Once he was finished, the projector was withdrawn back into the ceiling and the lights illuminated the room once again.

"The details of this mission are not to be discussed amongst yourselves or you will be severely punished," said Zander. A solemn look dawned on his face. "If I were you, I would take this time to pray or do whatever it is you do to make peace with yourself before the mission," he said.

"You are dismissed!" said Bulldog.

With that, the four trainees stood up in unison and left Building A.

* * *

**Red Crown: I would like to let it be known that everything the Russian President says as well as the occurrences in the General Assembly is borrowed from Joel Rosenberg's novel The Ezekiel Option p.188-193.** That is the best and most realistic pretext for war that I can think of.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Just so everyone knows I have seen the satellite photos of the Bushehr nuclear facility in Iran. It is true that there is no power line that connects the plant to the power grid. Also, the whole thing that I mentioned about Namings is also true. I got it from an article written by an F-16 pilot. I took the explanation of the possible reasons of why the War of Gog and Magog might happen before the Rapture from Joel Rosenberg's website. Please review. It motivates me to update sooner.


	6. Zhuravlik

_"The art of war is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can, and keep moving on."_ -Ulysses S. Grant

* * *

CHAPTER SIX: _**"Zhuravlik"**_

**Date: August 14, 2015**

**Time: 2100 hours, 9:00 P.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: 35,000 feet above international waters of the Persian Gulf**

Tony's F/A-18E was loaded for a long ferry, which meant that he had five 480 gallon external fuel tanks and no weapons. He could feel the tanks weigh him down. The weight made the controls sluggish.

Now he had to accomplish the most difficult task in naval aviation: landing on an aircraft carrier at night, an extremely difficult task after ten and a half hours of flight. He would need to rely completely on the instruments in his cockpit.

The only sound that could be heard inside his canopy was the beautiful humming of jet engine power plants. Tony had his oxygen mask unlocked. Outside of his canopy was a clear sky filled with stars and planets. A lunar eclipse made the moon impossible to find. The Persian Gulf waters below looked merely like a dark, bottomless pit that spanned for miles.

The cockpit in the F/A-18E was equipped with a touch-sensitive control display, a large multi-purpose liquid crystal color display (LCD), which showed tactical information, and two monochrome multifunctional displays. Tony had set the cockpit in night vision mode, which illuminated most of the controls and the displays. Tony's JHMCS read 400 knots, 35,000 feet, east bound at bearing 098, level flight. The carrier had electronically transmitted its location, heading, and speed into Tony's computers and they appeared in relation to his heading on his LCD in the form of a digital map. The carrier was 14 miles at his left moving northwest at a speed of 9 knots.

"Knox Two-eight, you are cleared to land," said the carrier's controller over the radio.

"Roger, that. I'm on approach," Tony replied.

"Don't screw up, rookie," came the "friendly" voice of Bulldog over the radio.

He pushed the stick forward and set the nose at negative 40 degrees. The altimeter began to steadily decrease and his speed indicator did the opposite. Once he reached 4,000 feet he pulled out of the descent and banked so that his direction matched the angled deck of the carrier. He then cut the throttle and let his speed fall to 195 knots. He lowered the landing gear, activated the flaps, and lowered the tail hook. Each mechanism gave a groan as it operated. He then set his plane in a descent with the nose pointed 15 degrees above the horizon.

He had to approach the deck at exactly a 3 degree angle; too level and he would smash into the back of the deck, too steep and he would crash onto the deck. The deck had only 500 feet of runway for landing planes. Four wires were laid out at about 50 feet apart. This 50 foot box of four wires was his target. As if to make things even more fun, the deck was constantly rocking and rolling with the waves.

As he looked into the black void where the carrier was supposed to be, he began to see the signal lights appear out of the darkness as well as the lights that illuminated the runway. They were the only thing that was visible.

"Wind at one-one knots east," said the Landing Signals Officer (LSO). Tony adjusted his flight path to accommodate the wind.

An LSO controlled the signal lights that were on the deck of the carrier. Tony would see different lights depending on his angle of approach. If he was right on target, he would see an amber light, dubbed the "meatball," in line with a row of green lights. If the amber light appeared above the green lights, he was coming in too high; if the amber light appeared below the green lights, he was coming in too low. If he was coming in _way_ too low, he would see red lights.

At the moment, Tony saw the red lights.

"Higher," he heard the LSO say over the radio.

He gently increased his thrust and watched as the red lights turned into the meatball and leveled with the green lights.

"Call the ball," said the LSO, a phrase that meant his approach was perfect.

Tony tried his best to hold his position of approach as still as possible. The lights continued to grow closer, but he still couldn't see anything.

"Steady," said the LSO once again.

Suddenly the deck appeared out of the darkness only three miles away and rushing towards him. A sudden jolt of adrenaline and fear struck him as the distance closed in seconds. Tony shoved his back into the seat and braced for the impact of the landing. He could feel the wheels pound the metal body of the carrier. He snagged a wire and the resulting sudden stop put tremendous forward force on him. Just as he was trained to do he went to maximum afterburner incase anything went wrong and he would need to take off again. The engines roared for a brief second. When Tony felt it was safe he cut the throttle back to idle. If the burners were on any longer the force would rip the tail hook off.

Tony flipped the switch for the wings to fold and let one of the aircraft handlers guide him to a parking space.

* * *

**Time: 2200 hours, 10:00 P.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

Not too long after his adrenaline provoking landing, he was still wide awake. After crossing several time zones he felt like it was the middle of the day, yet the long flight exhausted him.

Once he landed, Bulldog approached him and guided him and Pat to the briefing room. The commanders wanted to brief them on the strike right away. Within minutes Tony was in the briefing room.

The room smelled of alloys and steel. Many chairs were arrayed in several rows covering the floor. Unlike Building A at Nacimiento, the briefing room on the USS George H. W. Bush had a large plasma screen monitor that was plugged into a computer that produced three-dimensional images. Behind the monitor was a simple grid map of the world that covered the wall. A podium stood to the far right of the monitor with all sorts of notes littered on top of it. The only other individuals in the room were Pat, Bulldog, and another sailor that stood by the door.

Tony didn't even have time to take a seat before the sailor shouted, "Attention on deck!"

All three fighter pilots snapped at attention.

A middle aged naval officer whose uniform bared the markings of a captain walked in the door. "At ease," he said. The fighter pilots sat down in response.

"Let us begin," said the captain before he grabbed a remote. He flipped on the TV and it automatically went to a satellite image of Iran. The view zoomed in on the Bushehr Nuclear Power Plant.

Tony opened his binder and prepared himself to take notes on the volley of information that was about to be thrown at him. One thing he liked about the captain was that he wasted no time in getting straight to the point.

"The Bushehr Nuclear Power Plant has two main reactors that we know of. What we fear is that it may also have a large underground facility that stores nuclear weapons and terrorist bases. Because of this we want to hit each reactor with GBU-28 bunker buster bombs."

The bunker buster series of precision-guided bombs were made for penetrating layers of concrete and exploding after penetration. This bomb allowed commanders to avoid needing to deal with hardened structures and directly hit the important stuff that was underneath. The GBU-28 was the largest and most powerful version of the bomb allowed to be carried by a strike aircraft.

"The two reactors are guarded by an overwhelming network of SAMs (Surface to Air Missiles, pronounced as 'sam') and AAA (Anti-Aircraft Artillery, pronounced as 'Triple-A')."

The SAMs on the screen immediately became illuminated in red. Tony saw what looked like ten small SAMs, four medium-sized SAMs, and four large SAMs scattered about the area. Each SAM's engagement range was placed on the screen in the form of a red circle that went as far as their missiles could.

"The smaller SAMs that are highlighted here are the Russian-made Tor-M1, NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) codenamed: SA-15 'Gauntlet.'" As the captain spoke a 3D image of the SA-15 appeared in a corner on the screen. It looked more like a lightly armored box on tracks with a set of antennas protruding out on top. To the right of the image was a set of specifications:

MAX RNG: 7 miles

MAX ALT: 10,000 ft

"There are also four Russian-made Pantsir-S1, NATO codenamed: SA-22 'Greyhound.'" As the captain spoke the image of the SA-15 disappeared and was replaced by the image of an SA-22. The SA-22 looked like a large truck pulling an armored bathtub with a turret on it. The turret consisted of a radar, two cannons, and twelve missiles held in tubes on the outer sides of the cannons. Its specifications were listed as well.

MAX RNG: 12 miles

MAX ALT: 30,000 ft

"The main threats here are the four S-400s that Iran has stationed near the reactors." As he spoke the image of an SA-22 was replaced by that of an S-400. The S-400 was on an even larger truck than the SA-22. On the back it had three telephone pole-sized tubes and three other tubes that were half the size of the first tubes.

"The S-400, NATO codenamed: 'SA-21 Growler,' is roughly comparable to the U.S. Army's Patriot and is known for being the only SAM system capable of shooting down stealth aircraft."

Tony knew that the Russian-made SA-21 Growler had a lethal reputation. The Russians knew that stealth did not eliminate an aircraft's signature from radar; it only made it too small to be seen. The S-400 had a high performance radar that was designed to be powerful enough to find and engage stealth aircraft. It had an incredible engagement range of 250 miles, more than twice the range of its closest American rival, the MIM-104 Patriot. It was also better than the Patriot at intercepting cruise missiles or other incoming weapons. The missiles were equipped with an active homing head and had an estimated single shot kill probability of 90 percent for manned aircraft and 80 percent for unmanned aircraft.

The view from the satellite scanned northward a few miles and halted on an airstrip.

"Only a few miles north of the plant is the IRIAF's (Islamic Republic of Iran Air Force) sixth TAB (Tactical Air Base). Fighters will be in the area, most likely Russian-made MiG-29 Fulcrums and Su-30 Super Flankers as well as some Chinese-made J-10 Dragons," said the captain. An image of each fighter appeared on the top of the screen in its own small box.

On June 19, 2007, a Russian business daily newspaper called _Kommersant_ said that Russia would sell Syria a large number of MiG-29M Fulcrums in a deal that was possibly financed by Iran.

The MiG-29 Fulcrum was a lightweight, inexpensive, fighter-interceptor that was incredibly dangerous at close range due to its agility, high speed, and helmet mounted sights. The Fulcrum had been exported to several countries worldwide and many hostile, oppressive regimes loved to use it. It had seen plenty of combat and much success in the right hands. It was considered the standard threat for all western aircraft to match in combat. The MiG-29M model was one of the latest versions.

In 2007, an Israeli source claimed that Russia had plans to sell several Su-30 Flankers to Iran.

The Su-30 Flanker was a heavy, long range, fighter-bomber that boasted capabilities similar to those of the F-15E. It was incredibly maneuverable and could carry a broad range of advanced weapons. It was considered one of the best fighters in the world. Like the MiG-29 it was also a popular export fighter to Russia's allies.

Ironically the J-10 was based off Israeli experimental fighter jet technology, which was in turn based off the American F-16. Israel had limited partners in the area of weapons exports, China among them. The Chinese were angry over the fact that America had repeatedly sold Taiwan advanced F-16 fighter jets. Once the J-10 was made it was immediately offered to enemies of the U.S. as a message that if the U.S. was going to sell China's enemies fighter jets, China would play the same game. Needless to say, the Israelis were not very happy about it.

The J-10 was an advanced single seat lightweight fighter jet that was estimated to be roughly comparable to the F-16.

These arms deals with Russia and China had transformed the IRIAF from an old, rusty mid-Cold War era air force into one of the largest and most modern air forces in the Middle East, rivaling even that of Israel's.

The view on the screen went back to the Bushehr plant. However, it quickly passed the Bushehr plant and went 50 miles southeast along Iran's coast where the land was extremely mountainous. It halted and the image switched to a 3D, grid map. The view shifted to the horizontal plain to better expose the terrain, most noticeably a passage that lay between the mountains.

"Your targets are the S-400's. They could very easily intercept the bunker buster bombs so we cannot strike until they are out of the picture. Richardson, you will be assigned to your F/A-18 Echo. However, Morrison and Ironheart, you will be assigned an EA-18G and provide jamming support while Richardson performs SEAD (Suppression of Enemy Air Defense) and takes out the SA-21s. At zero-four-hundred hours on the nineteenth of August you will take off from the USS Bush and approach this mountain pass at less than three-hundred feet. You will use terrain masking to hide from the enemy's radar system while you are in the country."

The view went through the passage and into a forest of mountains. A red line suddenly appeared that took a course which weaved through the mountains. The view followed the line through the mountains 50 miles to the Bushehr plant. The land opened and went flat roughly 15 miles near the plant.

"This is the path that you will take though the mountains. The information is being downloaded into the computers on your fighters as we speak. This path will keep you from being spotted by the radars until you are within fifteen miles of the target, well within weapons range. It will also give you the element of surprise. Once you're there you will destroy the four SA-21s that are stationed nearby with either HARMs (High-speed Anti-Radiation Missile) or JAGMs."

The view zoomed in on the nuclear plant. The locations of the SA-21's became highlighted in bright red. They went in an arc along the eastern border of the plant. A model of an F/A-18E and an EA-18G appeared on the screen and went to each SA-21 site. As they went to each site they struck it with a yellow line that symbolized a missile.

"Once the S-400's are taken out, a flight of Strike Eagles from Ali al Salim Air Base will move in and destroy the reactors with bunker busters. The Eagles will be covered by a flight of Raptors that will suppress any enemy fighters within the area and cover your escape. An E-3 Sentry AWACS will provide battle management. Once the reactors are taken out you will return to the CVN-77 and be debriefed."

The 3D image on the screen played out the events as he spoke them.

"I also want you to be careful if you engage enemy air targets. I can't tell you about the other operations to take out the rest of Iran's nuclear facilities, but what I am allowed to tell you is that there will be foreign allied strike aircraft in the area eliminating Iran's other nuclear sites. Use your IFF before you engage any bogies in the area."

The Navy pilots immediately knew that the "foreign allied strike aircraft" assistance could easily mean that there would be Israeli, British, or another friendly nation's fighters in the area simultaneously hitting Iran's other four main nuclear facilities at the cities of Natanz, Arak, Isfahan, and Qom, all of which were located deeper in Iran's territory.

The captain turned off the screen. His expression changed to something calm, yet passionate.

"My wife and daughter live within the expected blast radius of the nuclear device that was taken from the terrorists in New York. They, along with several million Americans, could have died in a split second and they don't even know it. There is no room for failure on this mission. Millions of innocent American and freedom-loving lives depend on your success. Good hunting. Dismissed!"

The fighter pilots stood up and left the room in unison.

* * *

**Date: August 15, 2015**

**Time: 1100 hours, 11:00 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Iran, Sixth Tactical Air Base North of the port city of Bushehr**

Senior Lieutenant Krylov dumped another water bottle on his head. It was hot as hell. He had just come from the numbing cold and moist plains of the former Soviet Union to the severely hot and dry deserts of the Middle East. Where he came from, 40 degrees was considered normal; 70 degrees was warm and 80 was scorching. Today in Iran it was 102 degrees, murder to Krylov.

He absolutely hated this assignment as a mercenary pilot, but it was Russian military doctrine that had a long line and he felt honored to do it.

In the Korean War, the Soviet Union sent some of its elite WWII fighter pilots to fight for the communist nations against the Americans and the South Koreans. Soviet MiG-15s were adorned with North Korean or Chinese markings and the pilots wore either North Korean uniforms or civilian clothes to disguise their origins. For radio communications, they were given cards with common Korean words for various flying terms spelled out phonetically in Cyrillic characters. These subterfuges did not long survive the fury of air-to-air combat, however, and pilots were soon routinely communicating in Russian. U.S. Air Force pilots referred to them as "honchos."

In the Vietnam War, the Soviet Union also sent some of its highly trained pilots into the North Vietnamese Air Force to better train the communist allies and once again do battle with the capitalist forces. Soviet crews fired USSR made surface to air missiles and killed the first B-52 Bombers shot down in bombing raids over Hanoi. Fewer than a dozen Soviet citizens lost their lives in the conflict. Following the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, Russian officials acknowledged that the Soviet Union had stationed up to 3,000 troops in Vietnam during the war.

Another example was in August 1971, when several MiG-25Rs were unloaded at Cairo airport in Egypt. They were referred to as the X-500. Egyptian personal were kept at a distance and the planes were highly secretive. The aircraft were painted in Egyptian colors, but they belonged to the Soviet Union and had Soviet pilots. From October 1971 to March 1972 the MiG-25Rs flew recon missions over Israeli air space and the Mediterranean at average speeds of mach 2.5 (_mach_ is a measure of speed where 1 equals the speed of sound). In one instance an Israeli F-4 Phantom attempted to intercept one of the MiG-25Rs. The MiG merely accelerated to mach 3.2 and disappeared.

The Russian Federation still continued this tradition of sending its allies mercenary pilots just in case the Americans attacked and to keep its own pilots experienced and skilled in modern air combat.

Krylov had remained in the hardened aircraft shelters almost all day. It was the only place that had both fresh air and lots of shade.

Outside and to the left of the hanger was the control tower. The tower had several loud speakers mounted on it. Every few hours or so an Islamic priest would get on it and either pray or recite verses from the Quran. Krylov had learned Arabic at the Lenin Military Academy institution in Russia so he understood everything that was being said.

"Surah 3:151 'we shall cast terror into the hearts of those who disbelieve because they ascribe unto Allah partners, for which no warrant hath been revealed. Their habitation is the Fire, and hapless the abode of the wrong-doers.'

Surah 5:51 'O ye who believe! Take not the Jews and the Christians for friends. They are friends one to another. He among you who taketh them for friends is (one) of them. Lo! Allah guideth not wrongdoing folk.'

Surah 9:5 'Then, when the sacred months have passed, slay the idolaters (non-Muslims) wherever ye find them, and take them (captive), and besiege them, and prepare for them each ambush. But if they repent and establish worship and pay the poor-due, then leave their way free. Lo! Allah is Forgiving, Merciful,'" the loud speakers blared. The Islamic priest was reading verses from the Quran that taught killing non-Muslims, Christians and Jews in particular, was a religious duty and the only way to get to heaven.

Krylov looked at the Iranian planes that his country had sold them. Several late model Su-30's were resting in the hangers. They sported the latest accessories, including canards and two-dimensional thrust vector control. They were adorned in IRIAF markings and dark desert camouflage. The roundels were three ring circles that consisted from the outside inward of green, white, and red. Traditional IRIAF markings consisted of the word "**الله **" (pronounced "Allah," meaning "God" in Arabic), in red, on the white field of the fin flash, and the text "**اللهأكبر**" (pronounced "Allah-u-Akhbar," meaning "God is greatest" in Arabic), in white, on the bottom of the green, and the top of the red field. The west preferred to call the aircraft the "Flanker," but he preferred to call it by its Russian name, the Zhuravlik (_"Baby Crane"_ in Russian because it is beautiful).

The Senior Lieutenant was sitting down with his back resting against the main landing gear of the plane he was currently assigned to.

It shared the Zhuravlik's outward appearance, but underneath the frame it was a new breed of beast. Monstrously powerful engines gave his jet the ability to supercruise (the ability to fly at mach one without afterburner). The three-dimensional vectored nozzles of the engines were resting downward, a lion's claws withdrawn. It was able to fire the latest venomous missiles that were fresh off the Russian production lines. It featured the latest in counter-stealth technologies, which included long wave infra-red sensors and an extremely powerful radar, capable of stalking things previously unable to be stalked. This was the latest model of the Zhuravlik, the Su-35BM.

The Su-35BM was a single seater, unlike the twin seat Su-30. The original Su-35BM had the canards removed to reduce the RCS (radar cross section) of the aircraft. However, Krylov had canards added to his plane for the simple reason that they made it look more like an older model Zhuravlik from a satellite's point of view. His plane was also painted in IRIAF markings and dark desert camouflage to disguise its Russian ownership from the prying eyes of the west.

Maraklov strolled on over to him from outside. The heat seemed to have no effect on him since he was used to these assignments in the Middle East. He always kept Krylov informed on the politics that were going on behind the scenes.

"The political situation is going well. Security Council Resolution 2441 will be voted on in four days. President Chemezov has already communicated his plans to the Iranian government behind the world's back. The response he received was favorable. Syria has learned from Iran and also agreed to lend their support. Most of the other radical Muslim regimes such as Libya and Sudan have agreed to assist making his dream of a Russian-Islamic Empire a reality," he said. "He is also considering making the military alliance between Iran and Russia official."

Chemezov hated America for defeating his country in the Cold War and wanted revenge. Russia also wanted Israel removed for her role in helping the Americans halt the expansionist policies of the Kremlin during the Cold War. However, first and foremost, Chemezov wanted to form Russia into an empire in which it would have a special relationship with the Arab states in order to use them as vessels of influence. Some of the Muslim countries merely wanted to destroy Israel for economic reasons and to aquire the Holy City of Jerusalem. However, others, such as Iran and Syria, believed in teachings in the Quran that taught killing Christians and Jews was a religious duty and that the only way to go to heaven was to die in Jihad (Arabic for "Holy War") against anyone who was not a Muslim. A Russian-Islamic alliance would seize control of the Middle East and put the western economies in danger. If the alliance was unified enough then they would become an unstoppable force even for the US and China. Above all, this was about power.

Currently the Middle East was more peaceful than it had been in the recent decades. The Taliban was dead. Afghanistan was quiet. Osama Bin Laden had been captured, put on trial, found guilty of genocide, and executed. Iraq was largely pacified and, despite all the hardships, had a democratically elected government as well. Saddam Hussein's regime was dead and buried. The vast majority of U.S. and coalition troops were finally out of Iraq and the new government, while still working to firmly establish its legitimacy, was at least peaceful, only lightly armed, and friendly to American interests. Yasser Arafat was dead. A moderate, democratically elected Palestinian prime minister was in power. An interim Israeli-Palestinian peace agreement was bearing fruit. Krylov couldn't wait for his government to mess all that up. **(This paragraph was taken and modified from the 1st chapter of The Ezekiel Option.)**

"The Americans and Zionists won't know what hit them," replied Krylov.

As much as Krylov hated to admit it, he loved war. He loved the chaos and the thrill of combat. He loved watching a plane go down in flames whether or not the pilot got out.

He had only performed in combat twice. Both instances were in Sudan. On December 15, 2001, Russia signed a deal with the Sudanese government for at least a dozen MiG-29s. However, the Sudanese government didn't want to use the time and money to train its own pilots. It took millions of dollars and around two years to give fighter pilots decent training. However, it was much cheaper and quicker to just buy mercenary pilots. Sudan, which had newly discovered oil wells, quickly traded oil profits for jets and fighter pilots, Krylov among them.

The Sudanese government housed and supported several Al-Qaeda terrorist havens and training camps. The U.S. Air Force had made two attempts on them and Krylov had foiled both. Neither of the incidents reached the media.

Now he was here to guard the Nuclear Plant at Bushehr. If anyone tried to attack, they were going to have an unexpected surprise from one of the latest combat machines Russia had to offer and a battle experienced pilot.

* * *

**Red Crown: As you can tell I do track Russian arms deals in foreign news papers. In case you are wondering, the answer to your question is yes, I am a defense net junky. Please review. It will motivate me to update sooner.**

Liquid crystal color display (LCD)

Landing Signals Officer (LSO)

SAMs (Surface to Air Missiles, pronounced as "sam")

AAA (Anti-Aircraft Artillery, pronounced as "Triple-A")

NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization)

IRIAF's (Islamic Republic of Iran Air Force)

TAB (Tactical Air Base)

Rhino (United States Navy nickname of the F/A-18E/F Super Hornet)

SEAD (Suppression of Enemy Air Defense)

Mach: a measure of speed where 1 equals the speed of sound

**الله **(pronounced "Allah," meaning "God" in Arabic)

**اللهأكبر** (pronounced "Allah-u-Akhbar," meaning "God is greatest" in Arabic)


	7. Snap

_"The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."_ -Gilbert Keith Chesterton

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN: _**"Snap"**_

**Date: August 18, 2015**

**Time: 1400 hours, 2:00 P.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Iran, Sixth Tactical Air Base North of the port city of Bushehr**

Vanya tried her best to relax as she sat in the seat of an An-74 transport aircraft. The aircraft was in the process of landing and she was deeply uncomfortable with planes in general. She felt like she had been losing her mind the past year. She was torn between staying in her current job and trying to get free. The last suggestion of Professor Grover kept spinning around in her head. She didn't know if she was able to escape from her current life without being killed. She hadn't reached a decision yet, but she was leaning on the idea of finding a way to fake her own death and then leave for America or Britain.

The plane finally parked and the ramp opened up to reveal an aircraft hanger. Standing at the end of the ramp was her father: Major General Maraklov. He came to her with arms open and gave her a hug. She did not return the hug.

"It is good to see you my little darling!" he said. "I wanted to have you close to my side for the next few months. As you know the world is about to become a very dangerous place."

"I understand, father," she said.

"We have a room on the base set up for you. It will have everything you need and then some. I want you to stay there and relax. These men will protect you," he said and pointed to two heavily armed men wearing body armor, masks, and fatigues with the SPETSNAZ insignia on their shoulders.

"Father, do you think we could spend some time together? Maybe go have a late lunch, perhaps?" she asked.

"Sorry, honey. I have no time for that. My work influences the nations of the world right now and it is very important," he said.

"I understand, father," she said with a fake smile. "I hope your work goes well."

After another goodbye her father left her just as he had always left her throughout her life. She truly did understand her father. She understood that he was too obsessed with being a military man of war to care for his daughter.

At that moment Vania's tolerance for her job, her life in the Russian government, and her father snapped. Years of acting had enabled her to keep her emotions concealed for the moment, but it was this moment that she decided she was going to leave. She was going to defect as soon as possible. Now if she just had a plan...

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0300 hours, 3:00 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Aboard CVN-77 USS George H. W. Bush in international waters of the Persian Gulf**

Over the past two days, Tony had done nothing but perform missions in the simulator that resembled possible scenarios of what might happen during the actual mission. They constantly went over the mission objectives for several hours a day. It was getting tiring, but he knew it was meant to make him memorize the mission and it had done just that.

Meanwhile the political situation in the Middle East had taken a steep decline. Russia had really stunned the world. The vote on Security Council Resolution 2441 would take place in only one day. Everyone began picking sides, a sure sign that war was near, and not too many countries were siding with the United States. As if to make things worse, Kuwait had recently had its own elections for its leaders and the new president of Kuwait was calling for all U.S. forces to leave his country's soil. Tony just hoped that the president would allow the U.S. to stay at Ali al Salim long enough to perform the strike.

The more that Tony simulated the mission, the more he realized he had the most dangerous part. Nathan, Omen, Baker, and whoever was flying as Baker's WSO had the simple objective of dropping bombs on target. The Raptor pilots had the more troublesome job of handling advanced enemy fighters at high altitude. However, Tony had to weave through SAMs and AAA at low altitude to strike four targets with the risk that fighters could already be in the area. In fact, in most of the simulations he eliminated the targets, but didn't make it out alive.

The real mission was only hours away and he was scared.

Before Tony had entered the flight equipment room his thoughts then shifted to the enemy. "Who would I be killing?" he often wondered. The Islamic Republic of Iranian was run by radical Muslims, who had one simple goal: take over the world and establish Islamic Sharia Law across the globe from east to west. What was Sharia? It was the set of Islamic religious laws that govern the lives and conduct of Muslims around the world. Many Muslim countries had many different versions of Islamic Sharia Law, but they all agreed on three simple things.

The first was that no man could change his religion from Islam. If they were to change their religion from Islam and become an apostate, then they were to be killed immediately. The prophet of Islam, Muhammad, was quoted saying "Whoever changed his Islamic religion, then kill him," in Al-Bukhari volume 4, number 55. Under Sharia law millions of people were put to death in the recent decades simply for leaving Islam.

One noticeable case that received plenty of media attention was in Afghanistan after the 2001 invasion by the U.S. a 41-year-old man named Abdul Rahman faced the death sentence under Sharia law for converting from Islam to Christianity.

Senior clerics condemned Rahman as an apostate. Rahman had "committed the greatest sin" by converting to Christianity and deserved to be killed, cleric Abdul Raoulf said in a sermon at Herati Mosque. "The Quran is very clear and the words of our prophet are very clear. There can only be one outcome: death," said cleric Khoja Ahmad Sediqi, who was also a member of the Supreme Court. However, at that time the U.S. was the only thing that propped up the Afghan government. President Hamid Karzai faced mounting foreign pressure to free Abdul Rahman and eventually did.

In addition to its imposition of Islamic morality on non-Muslims, the second thing all Sharia law agreed on was that there shall be no equality between Muslims and non-Muslims. Under strict Sharia law only Muslims can be full citizens of an Islamic state. Many states shamelessly discriminate against non-Muslims. In Saudi Arabia and Kuwait being Muslim is a precondition of naturalization. Christians and Jews have limited rights but they may not participate in public life or hold positions of authority over Muslims. Anyone other than a Muslim, Christian or Jew is deemed to be an unbeliever and is not permitted to reside permanently in an Islamic state. The Koran only recognizes the People of the Book as religious communities. Others are pagans and must be excluded. In criminal prosecutions non-Muslims are given harsher punishments than Muslims. Crimes against Muslims are often punished more severely than crimes against others. In court under the Sharia the testimony of a non-Muslim carries less weight than that of a Muslim.

The third thing that all Sharia law agreed on was that women were worth half that of a man and that Muslim men had the right to beat their wives. In Surah 4:176 it read "unto the male is the equivalent of the share of two females." This was simply pertaining to many things. The Prophet Muhammad said, "Isn't the witness of a woman equal to half of that of a man?" He said, "This is because of the deficiency of a woman's mind," in Hadith volume 3 number 826.

In order for a man to be convicted of rape in an Islamic court, there had to be four male witnesses that caught him in the act. If there were not enough witnesses or if the witnesses did not catch him in the act, then the women's accusation of rape was automatically turned into a confession of adultery, which was punishable by stoning to death under Sharia law.

In the Quran, Surah 4:34, Muhammad was quoted saying, "Men are in charge of women, because Allah hath made the one to excel the other, and because they spend of their property (for the support of women). So good women are the obedient, guarding in secret what Allah hath guarded. As for those from whom ye fear rebellion, admonish them and banish them to beds apart, and scourge them…" In short, if a woman does not obey the commands of her husband, then the husband must take several measures, such as making them sleep on the couch, before he finally has the right to beat her.

This was the law the leaders of Iran as well as every radical Islamic terrorist were trying to impose upon the world. This was the law that they were trying to force onto his country. They hated America for one simple reason: she was free.

Tony knew that there could have been honorable, good men in the Iranian military, but the fact was that whoever was in the Iranian military supported and served the radical Muslims who wanted to destroy America as well as the rest of the free world. The Iranians who were guarding the nuclear facilities at Bushehr were, in fact, protecting nuclear weapons that were going to be used to kill millions of innocent people. Those Iranians were not innocent men. This made them the enemy of the free and the innocent. Tony had no qualms about taking out such an enemy.

When the subject of nuclear weapons came up, many people often compared the United States use of nuclear weapons in WWII on two Japanese cities, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, which had no military targets, to crimes of war. However, in that special case the use of nuclear weapons was actually used to save lives.

The U.S. had two options to end the war: invade the Japanese main land or use the atom bomb. It was estimated that if the U.S. were to invade Japan, several hundred thousand American troops along with millions of Japanese, both military and civilian, would die where as the use of the Atom bomb put Japanese casualties in the tens of thousands. Japan was given the opportunity to surrender and they gave no reply since they were fiercely committed to fight to the bitter end. It was then determined that it would actually save millions of lives to use the atom bomb on Japan and force them to surrender to end the war.

Despite what popular belief and the American mainstream media constantly portrayed, the decision to use nuclear weapons was not made by some crazy war mongers in the White House. It was made after careful planning by intelligent people who cared for Japanese lives even when the Japanese did not have regard for their own lives. What the U.S. did not expect was for the atom bomb to be as powerful as it was and take the lives of over a hundred thousand Japanese. In the end, this was still minimal in comparison to the figures for an invasion and the use of nuclear weapons saved lives by bringing the war to a quick end.

The then Secretary of War Henry Stimson wrote about the decision to use the bomb and his own feelings: "The decision to use the bomb was a decision that brought death to over a hundred thousand Japanese. No explanation can change that fact and I do not wish to gloss it over. But this deliberate, premeditated destruction was our least abhorrent choice... The bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki ended a war. They also made it wholly clear that we must never have another war... There is no other choice."

As far as who his enemy was, Tony had no doubt that the forces he was about to take on in combat were the forces of Gog and Magog prophesied in the Bible. Ezekiel 38:5 listed Magog's allies and the first ally listed was Persia. Iran's original name was Persia. Only until March 21, 1935 was it ever called Iran. This made it clear that Ezekiel was referring to the modern nation of Iran when he spoke of Magog's number one ally. Never in the past 2,900 years had Iran ever had a military alliance with Russia.

The history between the two nations was extremely bitter. Russia briefly occupied parts of northern Iran in the nineteenth century, in 1912, during the WWI and even till 1946. In fact, their hatred of Russia drove them into an alliance with the United States. The leader of Iran at the time, Muhammad Reza Shah Pahlavi, commonly referred to as the "Shah," accepted large amounts of American aid and support to build a counter weight against the Soviet Empire.

In, 1979, the Islamic Revolution in Iran overthrew the Shah, forcing him into exile, and American embassy personnel were taken hostage for 444 days. As cruel as this was a blow to U.S. interests it hardly provided the door for Moscow to form an alliance with the Muslim country as the Bible predicted. Even the new Ayatollah Khomeini had no desire for an alliance with the atheists in the north. In fact, when the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan in the December of 1979 the Iranians feared that Moscow would invade them next.

Only when Iraq invaded Iran in 1980 did Iran begin this alliance with Moscow. When the war dragged on too long Iran needed to look to a super power for support. The Islamic Revolution had instantly made them enemies of the United States and Europe so Tehran turned to its last source: Russia. The alliance had blossomed much since then and the result was exactly what the Bible had predicted.

Tony almost could not believe it, but he was watching a 2,500 year old Biblical prophecy being fulfilled before his very eyes. As if to make thing even more fun, God had placed him right in the middle of it all.

The art of battle was an ancient art that man had taken part in since the beginning of history; the art of killing and being killed. It had been accelerated by technology, but the basics were still the same. The goal was to take a human life and remove it from the face of existence. It was a bloody business and it was this business that Tony was about to take part in. He was scared.

Two verses of the Bible began echoing in Tony's mind.

_"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."_ -Psalm 23:4

_"The Lord is on my side; I will not fear. What can man do to me?" -_Psalm 118:6

Those words gave him peace. This mission was in His hands; loving hands that never made a mistake nor judged wrongly. Death was merely a shadow that everyone must pass under. The choices that a person makes in their life determined where they would end up after passing under that shadow. If Tony were to die, he had no doubt that he would end up in God's arms and he would not have anything to worry about. He did not know what heaven was like. The only thing that he did know was that it was the place that Jesus Christ had prepared for him and was waiting for him. However, if it was God's will that he lived then nothing on earth could kill him. Either way, he was bound for good things. With this knowledge, even as he stood at the edge of death, there was peace.

He got down on his knees and prayed a quick prayer. With that done, he stood up.

"Live or die..." he had settled, "...all is well with my soul."

He sanitized his flight suit, removing the black and yellow velcro patches. If captured, he didn't want the Iranians to know what unit he was from; name, rank, serial number, and date of birth, and that was it.

Helmet under his armpit, he headed to his plane, which was resting on the elevators under the deck. Her canopy was open, the wings were folded, and the ladder extended as if to be inviting him in. Next to her was the EA-18G that Bulldog and Pat were assigned to. Bulldog and Pat were already seated in the EA-18G and running a systems check.

Tony took nothing for granted on a sortie. He made sure the right weapons were loaded and double checked the oil and tires. His weapons consisted from the outside inward of two AIM-9X Sidewinders, four AGM-65F IR-guided Mavericks, two AGM-88E HARMS, and two AIM-120D AMRAAM (Advanced Medium Range Air-to-Air Missile) missiles.

These weapons were of the latest and finest on the American weapons market.

The AIM-9X was a close range heat-seeking air-to-air missile. The AIM-120D was a long range radar guided air-to-air missile. These two missiles were his best for killing any enemy fighters that got in his way.

The AGM-65F was an advanced, battle-tested heat-seeking air-to-ground tactical missile that was made specifically for the U.S. Navy. It was effective against a wide variety of targets, including vehicles and armor. It could strike a target at 17 miles away. These were the missiles that he intended to use to take out the SA-21s. Once the canyon opened at 15 miles from the plant, the SA-21s would be easy pickings for the Maverick missiles. If any of them switched on their radars to fight, then he had the HARMs to back him up.

The AGM-88E's real name was the Advanced Anti Radiation Guided Missile (AARGM). However, pilots just got used to calling its predecessor the HARM and the name stuck. It featured the latest software and enhanced capabilities. Passive radar, which seeks out radars when they are active, was the AGM-88E's method of guidance. With older models of the AGM-88 the enemy could fool the missile simply by turing off their radar. The AGM-88E, however, was could counter radar shutdown.

On his centerline weapons station he had a new IRST (Infra-Red Search and Track) sensor pod that was mounted on the front of a modified 480 gallon fuel tank. It was a passive, long-range sensor system that searched for and detected long-wave heat signatures within its field of view. It could track several targets simultaneously and provided an effective air-to-air targeting capability even when facing advanced threats with radar jamming equipment. In addition to providing the IRST capability, it also provided 330 gallons of fuel.

His last line of defense was his M61A2 Vulcan cannon with 570 rounds of 20mm ammunition. If the enemy got too close it would be his only option. It was effective within only one mile's distance, but it provided a capability that could not be excluded. A low tech system that was not susceptible to electronic defenses was irreplaceable even on the modern battle field.

Once he was satisfied he then climbed up the ladder into the cockpit. He flipped the switch for the batteries to power up. The various lights and displays flickered to life, already in night vision mode. He put on his helmet and ran a quick systems check. All was well and he had a full internal tank of 14,950 lbs of JP-5 jet fuel. Everything was operating perfectly. The maintenance crews had done an excellent job of preparing the aircraft.

Just then one of the deck crew members activated the elevator. Tony, Pat, and Bulldog were lifted up from the hanger to the deck. Another member of the deck crew came and retracted Tony's ladder. Tony flipped the switch for the canopy to close. He looked over and saw Bulldog had done the same. He began the short process of strapping the aircraft onto him, which included locking the straps and hooking in the oxygen supply to his mask. He then flipped both of the switches for the engines. The hum of his power plants coming to life was like music to his ears.

At 4:00 A.M., the sky was dark and laden with stars and plants. The sea appeared as an endless void of darkness. A crescent moon rested high in the sky. The deck was dimly lit so as not to make a large target at night.

One of the aircraft handlers with hand-sized liquid vapor torches that looked very similar to glow sticks motioned for Bulldog to move forward. He did so and was guided to the number one catapult. Another aircraft handler came and motioned for Tony to move forward. He gently increased the throttle and his aircraft slowly began to crawl forward. As he did so he flipped the switch to spread his wings from the folded position. He was directed to the number two catapult. Right before he got to the catapult he flipped the switch to lower launch bar, a tiny bar located on the front landing gear that would latch to the catapult. The aircraft handlers carefully guided him so that the launch bar was in precisely the right spot for it to be attached to the catapult.

Then an aircraft handler came to him with a large box that read the weight of the aircraft. With glow in the dark writing it read: 54,447 lbs. He then carried the box to the small shielded station in which the officer who launched the catapult was in. This was to give him the exact amount of power he would need to set for the catapult.

Tony moved the stick around in all directions to make sure that the control surfaces of his aircraft were responding correctly. They were flawless.

"Smoke One-one ready on the cat," he heard over the radio, a phrase that meant the catapult crew was ready to launch him. His callsign was Smoke 11. Bulldog was Smoke 10.

He then gave the aircraft handlers a thumbs up sign with his hand to let them know that everything was working perfectly and he was ready to launch. This was followed by a quick salute. He then placed his right hand on a small bar, commonly referred to as the "towel bar," that was placed in his cockpit where the canopy closed.

"Stand by," he heard over the radio.

Pressing his back into his seat, he mentally prepared himself for the launch. The pilot could see the blast deflector on the deck raise behind him in his rearview mirror. Once it was fully raised he went to full afterburner and waited.

He was now a bullet in a loaded gun, just waiting for the trigger to be pulled.

"Cat two," said the officer.

Suddenly he shot forward, going from zero to 100 miles an hour in three seconds. Tremendous forces shoved him back into his seat. Once he felt the gear lift off the deck his right hand bolted to the stick. The weightless sense of flight had taken hold of him once more.

"Smoke One-one, airborne," he said back in the radio.

He pulled back and went sailing into the sky. He then lifted the lever for the gear and raised the flaps. Once in the air he let Bulldog take the lead.

"Smoke Flight, heading zero-six-zero, climbing to angle ten," said Bulldog over the radio. "Wish us luck," he added.

"It is wished," came the reply.

The mission had officially begun.

* * *

**Red Crown:** I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Have a happy President's Day! Please Review.

Advanced Medium Range Air-to-Air Missile (AMRAAM)

Advanced Anti Radiation Guided Missile (AARGM)

GPS (Global Positioning System)

HOBS (High-Angle Off-Boresight)

IRST (Infra-Red Search and Track)


	8. Bushehr

**Chapter 8: Bushehr**

**Red Crown: Thank you for your reviews and constructive advice.**

_"Man has always been and still is a fighting animal, and our safety and happiness require that substitutes for war or for armed conflict should be found." _-John A. Lejeune, 13th Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, United States Naval Academy class of 1888

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT:_**"Bushehr"**_

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0407 hours, 4:07 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Ali al Salim Air Base, Kuwait**

The E-3 AWACS, callsign Subway, had taken to the skies already.

Nathan and Romeo headed to their F-15E Strike Eagle that rested in one of the hangers. As they walked around the jet to inspect it, they noticed that the centerline station did not have a GBU-28 bunker-buster; instead, there was another bomb in its place that they had never seen before. The bomb looked very similar to the GBU-28, but it was slightly longer and had extended length between the laser guidance system and the warhead.

Nathan cocked an eyebrow and turned to the maintenance chief. "What is that?" he asked and pointed to the bomb.

"That is a GBU-60, sir," replied the chief.

Nathan and Romeo were confused. The GBU designation of bomb only went up to 57. As far as they knew there was no such thing as a GBU-60, neither was there a GBU-58 or GBU-59.

"What is a GBU-60?" asked Romeo.

"A very powerful bomb, sir. It operates just like the GBU-28 so you won't have any targeting problems," replied the chief. "The Iranian underground nuclear facilities are protected by three layers of two-point-five meter thick reinforced concrete walls. The GBU-28 will not be able to penetrate that thickness. The GBU-60 will be able to destroy the targets with ease. However, intelligence wants others to think that the GBU-60 will not be employed on this mission, because it uses classified technology. That is why it was marked off as a GBU-28."

"How does it work?"

"That's classified, sir,"

"What size is the warhead?"

"That's classified, sir,"

"Is it nuclear?"

"That's classified, sir,"

"Great," finished Romeo with sarcasm dripping from his mouth.

"They decided to tell us about this now?" said Baker as he appeared behind them. "We already have the mission to worry about. This seems to be just another thing that they should have told us."

Meanwhile, Major Zander and his wingman taxied their F-22A stealth fighters onto the runway just after the E-3 Sentry AWACS took off.

They were to take off as soon as they were given word that Smoke Flight had engaged the SA-21s. After take off they were to supercruise their way to the Bushehr Plant and take out any enemy fighters that were in the area. Hopefully the SA-21s would be out of the picture before they arrived there. The SA-21s were the most serious threat to the stealth jets.

Zander didn't know his wingman personally, and that was something that he didn't like. What he did know was that his wingman was already combat experienced and had been on a short deployment to Taiwan before being put in need of some serious R&R. Other than that, Zander also knew that one of the leading U.S. Air Force generals personally selected his wingman and said that he would be best suited for this mission. His wingman's name was First Lieutenant Rowdy "Scorch" Coughlin.

Scorch made one final check of his systems to ensure that everything was in working order. At first, he was fairly reluctant to take this mission. However, once he had learned that nuclear weapons were involved his attitude quickly changed. The last thing that he wanted to do was sit aside and leave the mission to somebody else. It was also a way of escape from the nightmares that haunted him in his sleep of the event over the Taiwan Strait nearly two years ago.

"Shadow Two-four to Shadow Two-five, is your bird healthy?" Zander asked him over the radio. Zander's callsign was Shadow 24 and his was Shadow 25.

"Shadow Two-five to Shadow Two-four, she's perfect," he replied.

_"At least he seems confident,"_ thought the Major.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0410 hours, 4:10 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: 5,000 feet above international waters of the Persian Gulf**

The two heavily armed tactical aircraft of the United States Navy were now moving towards Iran at high speed.

"Smoke One-one, this is our decent point," Pat said. "Switching to radio silence."

Tony set his radar to Terrain Avoidance mode in advance. This mode would scan the ground and provide a high resolution map of the area even in the dark so that the pilot could avoid smashing into the ground as he flew at low altitude. The map was displayed on his LCD and had been assisted in its construction with GPS. Just like the GPS systems that were placed in cars, his map had a line that showed the course he was supposed to take to get to the mountain passage and weave through the mountains toward the Bushehr plant.

He followed Bulldog into a steep decent. His speed indicator climbed to 550 knots. A cone shaped cloud appeared around his fighter as he neared the speed of sound.

Once their altitude reached 1,000 feet they began to pull back on the stick. His rate of decent had decreased, but his speed had not. He let his aircraft reach 200 feet. Amazingly he still found it difficult to see the ocean beneath him. Only the reflection of the moonlight as it bounced off the surface of the water was visible.

Just then his radar warning receiver picked up a hostile contact. There was an enemy radar somewhere near the beach that he was heading toward.

Iran had a small network of radar sites along their coast. However, they placed their best radars next to their nuclear facilities. This radar was most likely one of the small, less advanced ones in the Iranian arsenal. It most likely had not picked up the U.S. Navy jets, but it was dangerously close to the mountain passage and if they got any closer it would pose a threat to their element of surprise.

He transmitted the contact to Bulldog through a secure network channel. Bulldog communicated that he would take care of it.

The EA-18G "Growler" was basically an F/A-18F modified for escort and close-in jamming. The Growler served as the Navy's replacement for the EA-6B providing a capability to detect, identify, locate, and suppress hostile radars.

Bulldog and Pat's armament consisted from the outside inward of two ALQ-218 wingtip jamming pods, two AGM-88E HARMs, two ALQ-99 high band jammer pods, two 480 gallon fuel tanks, two AIM-120D AMRAAMs, and a centerline mounted ALQ-99 low band jammer pod. Unlike the F/A-18E, the EA-18G didn't have a gun. The gun was replaced with avionics boxes.

The ALQ-99 Tactical Jamming System pods intercept and automatically process radar signals. The system's transmitters could effectively jam large numbers of diverse radar threats with highly effective radiated power (ERP). ERP jamming waves were powerful enough to fry weak radars that couldn't handle the strong radar signals.

Pat merely activated the ALQ-99 jammers and blasted the little radar with an overwhelming amount of ERP. The hostile radar was fried and went silent immediately. The blast also fried the radios and communications systems as well. The small radar site was no longer a threat to the mission.

Tony could see on his high resolution map the mountain pass was only fifteen miles away and closing fast. When he looked ahead he only saw a forest of shadows. Ever so slowly the forest of shadows began to engulf his sides.

The pilot lowered his night vision goggles and the forest of shadows turned into a forest of mountains. Night vision goggles worked by amplifying light that was already in view. The moon and the stars were the only source of light in the night. He could clearly see every curve of every mountain in bright green coated vision. The brightest thing in view was Bulldog's engine exhaust.

He watched as the water below him turned to sand and rock. He was now officially in Iranian airspace. A steady trickle of adrenaline began to course through his blood. His senses grew more intense.

He and Bulldog began to weave through the mountains, following the exact path that the map displayed. The hard walls of rock at his sides made him nervous. The many hours he had spent practicing the mission in the simulator, which had a satellite constructed model of the canyon, had given him muscle memory and he found it relatively easy to maneuver his way through the mountains. However, the threat of enemy fighters being in the area kept him on edge. He could only describe his condition during the flight as a state of controlled panic.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0418 hours, 4:18 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Iran, Sixth Tactical Air Base North of the port city of Bushehr**

"Wake up, Krylov," he heard in Russian.

The Russian fighter pilot snapped his eyes open and looked up from his bed in the barracks. His gaze instantly met that of Captain Yousef Rasheed of the IRIAF, who was standing over him.

In his mid thirties, Rasheed was of Persian-Arabic descent. His eyes were brown as mud. His hair was black, smooth, and kept short. His beard went to his collar bone. His skin was darkly tanned and was well adapted to the blazing sun of the Middle East. He was considered by his men to be a highly devoted Muslim.

Krylov only knew the man for his hunger for power and women, as well as his absolute hatred for anything that was American, Jewish, or Christian. Rasheed was one of the few men Krylov knew of other than himself that actually took pleasure in war. He was one of the higher ranking officers in the Iranian military and Russia wanted to gain the favor of the higher ranking officers since they held plenty of power in the Islamic Republic. Rasheed was remarkably intelligent, but his desires made him extremely easy to manipulate and that was a fact about him that Krylov liked. The Russian hated working with people that weren't easy to deal with.

"We have lost contact with our shore based radar," said Rasheed with a thick Persian accent.

"You woke me up for that?" replied the mercenary pilot who was eager to get back to sleep. Rasheed was known for being overly paranoid and thinking that the Americans or their allies were going to attack at any second. Krylov assumed that the Iranian officer was just having another one of his fits again.

"The problem is on their end and it is not a typical malfunction. Their entire communications system went offline. We can't even raise them on radio. Everything went down _as_ we were communicating with them. Something is up and we need to get out there and check it out," he said.

The senior lieutenant of the Russian Air Force scrambled out of his bed and suited up in his flight gear, which he had placed nearby in his room. He figured the radar was most likely malfunctioning. As far as he knew, Iranian technology was unreliable.

The only other instance Rasheed had called Krylov into the air was to take out an American Predator UAV (Unmanned Aerial Vehicle) that had flown over the nuclear plant and was taking pictures. The Americans thought that the UAV's small radar signature would keep it hidden from the defenses, but they did not know that it would not protect it from Krylov and his Su-35's powerful radar.

Within two minutes he was fully suited and on his way out to his Zhuravlik. He did a quick check of his Su-35 and made sure that everything was in working order.

His Zhuravlik was brimming with armament. From the outside inward Krylov was armed with two L175M Khibiny-M wing-tip jamming pods, three R-74MEs and one R-73R, two R-77Ts , two R-77Ms, and one centerline mounted Kh-31P.

Before the Russian climbed into his cockpit he took a glance toward the personal insignia on the right side of the nose of his Su-35: a simple black five-pointed star with the unicode symbol for the Black Queen chess piece centered in.

In a quick fashion he taxied out, took off, and headed in the direction of the shore based radar, which had already been placed in his computer via ground-based network connection. He set his throttle to military power and his jet began to supercruise, which allowed him to make it there quickly and keep his engines from devouring valuable fuel with the gas drinking afterburners. His speed indicator hit mach 1.5 and he savored the thrill in breaking the sound barrier.

* * *

The first forty miles were easy for the U.S. Navy fighters to surpass. There were very few sharp turns and there was just enough space to keep their planes low to the ground and out of the enemy radar's view. As they got further the canyon began to narrow and it became increasingly difficult to maneuver in the tight spaces.

By now, Tony's senses were sharp as knives and he was incredibly nervous. The adrenaline was now freely flowing as were beads of sweat down his cheeks. He tried to calm himself down, but soon found that focus was his best relaxant.

The fact that they were moving low to the ground, where greater wind resistance slows down aircraft, and weaving through the mountains meant that it was going to take them much longer to reach the reactor than they would have if they had just flown in a straight line. This strained their concentration.

Suddenly he saw a lone jet flying several thousand feet above him in the opposite direction at an amazing speed. He recognized it as a Flanker.

Bulldog immediately started flying even lower in an attempt to keep himself hidden from the enemy. Tony was forced to follow him.

All models of the Flanker were highly formidable opponents and they were advised to avoid an engagement with them as best as possible. The Flanker was extremely deadly once it got within visual range of its opponents. It could out turn, out climb, out accelerate, and out run a Super Hornet with relative ease.

The Flanker passed overhead without even noticing the two U.S. Navy aircraft and continued off into the distance.

Tony made another check of his target information and had it displayed on one of his multifunctional displays. Satellite communications showed that three of the SA-21s were still in the same spot. To his surprise, the last one had been moved and his satellite could not find it. He began vigorously scanning the satellite image while constantly switching his focus back to his flight course through the mountains. He looked for a good minute and still could not find the last SA-21.

He electronically transmitted the situation to Bulldog. Bulldog responded in a text message, saying that the mission had remained unchanged and they would need to hunt down the last SA-21 when they arrived at the target area.

The naval aviator checked his ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival). It was only one minute and thirty-eight seconds.

He flipped the Master Arms Switch and all his weapons went hot. Simultaneously, he switched his radar to air-to-ground master mode, which configured all his systems and weapons for surface engagements. The first weapon he selected was one of his AGM-65F Mavericks.

Just then a situational update started to load onto his computer from an outside source. His computer registered it as an allied satellite that was being used by the intelligence personal on the E-3 AWACS. There was a flight of J-10 dragons on patrol twenty-eight miles to the east of the plant. If the Iranians were alerted to the American flight's presence, then the Chinese-made fighter jets might move in and cause trouble. The update also included information on the location of the Flanker that had passed over their heads earlier. The naval aviators made a mental note of them and switched their focus back to the target.

Within seemingly no time at all, the mountains cleared and an illuminated facility came into view. The Bushehr power plant fifteen miles away from him was massive in its complexity. The edges of the plant were dimly lit and the lights brightened toward the center. The two main reactors had no lights so they appeared as large black spots in the middle of the facility. To the right of the U.S. Navy pilots was a mountainous region.

The Iranian facility did have several radars; however, they were all pointed westward off shore. They were never expecting an attack from the south of the facility.

"Break radio silence, Smoke One-one," said Bulldog. "Let's kill them quick and get out of here. Take out the first site. I'll cover you with jamming."

Right after he said that he went full afterburner and climbed high. The ERP was spread out in waves. The higher that he got, the more he could spread his projection of ERP.

"Roger that, Smoke One-zero. Smoke One-one engaging."

With that Tony banked right and headed toward the first site. With the long reach of his missiles he intended to destroy the sites from a distance and then exit though the same path that he had taken. That was only if he found the last site in time.

His IRST sensor immediately found the first SA-21 and showed a high resolution, live feed of it in one of his multifunctional displays. Four Iranian operators were walking by the launcher. The missile tubes were in the locked position, and rested along the bed of the truck. They would be tilted back and facing straight up if they were in the firing position, which meant that the Iranians were not expecting anything at the moment. The Americans had gotten the desired jump on them and they would never see the first shot coming.

Tony obtained a lock on the launcher with his Maverick and pulled the trigger. "Rifle! Rifle!" he called out.

He could feel the AGM-65F leave the body of his plane. Suddenly, he saw it as a bright streak of light trailing smoke toward the site.

Seconds later the SA-21 erupted in a bright orange flash of fire and shrapnel.

"Target destroyed!" Tony nearly shouted into his radio.

* * *

The first shot had been fired. Zander and Coughlin immediately went full afterburner and shot down the runway. Once they had gained altitude they set their planes in a supercruise to the target area to perform their dream mission: air dominance.

Nathan and Baker followed close behind.

* * *

The first blood had been shed. At first Tony felt extreme joy in knowing that he had done his job and furthered the safety of freedom. However, he soon felt remorse as his IRST revealed the four dead bodies next to the wreckage. Even from several miles away, his high resolution feed displayed the burned and broken corpses in remarkably clear view.

He tried his best to shake it off and not think about it. He still had three more sites to go and he really didn't have time to wrestle with his conscious.

He swiftly directed his IRST sensor to the next site and selected another AGM-65F. The image was a mirror of the first site, the SA-21 in the locked position. The startled and confused Iranian crews began scrambling around the truck trying to get the SA-21's missile tubes in the firing position. The missile tubes slowly began to tilt backward.

Tony received a lock on the site with his AGM-65F.

"Rifle!" he called out again as he pulled the trigger.

The second Maverick left the body of his jet and shot forward toward the site.

Almost immediately his RWR began to flare. Four enemy radars were locked onto him. His computers registered the signals and identified the weapons. They consisted of three radar guided AAA batteries that were near the already destroyed SAM site and one SA-15 Gauntlet SAM vehicle that was seven miles away to his four o'clock, well within engagement distance.

"I'm spiked! Mud fifteen!"

"Smoke One-Zero, jamming," said Bulldog.

Pat had warmed up the ALQ-99s and pointed them toward the enemy sites. A massive blast of ERP smothered the three AAA batteries and made them as good as blind. The SA-15, however, featured jam-resistant technology so Bulldog had to kill it.

While Pat had control of the jammers, the fighter instructor switched on his HARM seeker and selected an AGM-88. The passive radar instantly locked onto the SA-15's radar beam and traced it to the source.

"Magnum!"

Tony saw the AGM-88 streak off his teacher's EA-18G from high altitude and dash toward the SA-15.

As the HARM was in flight Tony's Maverick struck the second SA-21. A bright explosion lit up the ground. Seconds later a second explosion came from the SA-15. The two massive fireballs illuminated the night for a brief moment.

By now every Iranian grunt on the ground knew that they had intruders in their airspace. A volley of unguided AAA filled the skies as Iranian gunners began using their manually operated gun batteries to unleash literally tons of lead into the air, hoping for a lucky shot.

Tony rolled right to dodge a stream of 30mm fire that had come dangerously close to tearing off his wing. He headed for the third site and selected another Maverick.

* * *

The Su-35's remarkable supercruise capability allowed Krylov to cross the fifty miles to the radar site very quickly. He began to orbit the site and tried to establish contact.

"Phoenix Zero to Base Six," he said using his callsign as he spoke to Maraklov who was hopefully at a radio on the Sixth Tactical Air Base, "My scope is clear. I have no hostile contacts on my radar. The site looks unharmed, but I still cannot raise them."

"This is Base Six to Phoenix Zero, we are under attack! I repeat! The Nuclear Plant is under attack! You must moved to engage the enemy immediately!" shouted Maraklov

Without hesitation Krylov armed his weapons systems and set his radar to TWS mode. He increased the range and found that there were two aircraft in the air 50 miles ahead of him. Whether or not they were friend or foe was a mystery to him.

Suddenly and without his own intention a connection was made between his plane's computers and a GLONASS (Global Navigation Satellite System) satellite. GLONASS was a network of 24 Russian satellites and was a direct counterpart of the American GPS. What the rest of the world did not know was that the Russian Federation had the satellites equipped with the latest in Russian-made intelligence gathering systems. The only person in the area that Krylov knew had access to GLONASS was Colonel General Maraklov.

He instantly had information on several different aircraft within 150 miles distance, most of which were civilian airliners. Due to an agreement between the United States and the Russian Federation the GLONASS satellites were interfaced with those of the GPS. Every flight that was using a GPS based guidance system was easily able to be accessed by the Russian government and tracked without anyone ever knowing it.

The Russian activated his Khibiny-M wing-tip jamming pods and set them for passive detection. He found that he was being tracked by a hostile radar that was 90 miles away. His intelligence confirmed it as an E-3 AWACS that had taken off from an air strip in Kuwait. The two aircraft up ahead were identified as two F/A-18s. He could also see a flight of two F-15Es coming in towards the coast.

It was not hard to see that the AWACS was coordinating the attack with the two fighters and feeding them information on his position. The AWACS was serving as their long range eyes.

Krylov decided that it would be best to gouge those eyes out. He selected his Kh-31P.

The Kh-31P (NATO codename: AS-17 Krypton) was a long range, passive radar guided missile that would seek out enemy radars and was designed for the specific purpose of killing AWACS aircraft.

His Kh-31P was special because it had a heavy coating of RAM (radar absorbent material) and did not let the enemy know it was coming. He received a lock on the enemy AWACS and launched the missile.

With the missile on its way the Russian began to rush back toward the nuclear plant. He flew low and hugged the mountains hoping that they would conceal his position from the enemy's radar.

* * *

Tony had finished off the third site and now he and Bulldog were searching for the last SA-21.

The AAA fire had gotten thicker and tracers were now swarming the sky like locusts. The Iranian Radar guided systems had been effectively jammed by Pat and now all Tony could do was scan the ground with his IRST sensor while dodging the AAA bursts that neared his jet. The Bushehr Plant was only three miles away to his left.

Finally he found it; however, the discovery was bitter sweet because he found it through his RWR and the SAM was locked onto him. It was only 10 miles to his right, camouflaged and with the front half of the vehicle parked in a large cave in the side of a nearby mountain. The position kept the SAM from being identifiable by a satellite.

"Mud Twenty-one!" he shouted into his radio and selected a HARM. He received a lock on the Iranian SAM.

The fight turned into a quick draw. At the same instant Tony fired his HARM the SA-21 fired its missile at him.

Through his night vision goggles the only part of the missile that was visible was its long flame exhaust and trail of smoke.

Fearful dread jolted through Tony. Panic began to eat at the edges of his mind. His gut felt as if it was swelling with butterflies. It seemed as if he were a child trapped in some horrible nightmare with no way out and demons hunting him. The knowledge that the missile had a 90 percent chance of killing him was instantly brought to memory.

He had only seconds to react.

"SAM launch!" he called out to let Bulldog know that he had been attacked.

The American went full afterburner and dove for the deck. He banked hard left and charged towards the Bushehr Plant. Several buildings and structures surrounded the reactors. He hoped to use them to confuse the radar from the SA-21.

As he raced toward the plant a volley of AAA was thrown at him from the surrounding area. His low altitude made him vulnerable to their fire. It was then that he noticed there were gun batteries mounted on top of several of the buildings.

His RWR confirmed that the missile was hot on his tail, only four miles away and eating the distance in nanoseconds.

A thunderous clap was audible as he tore through the sound barrier. The sonic boom caused the Iranian gunners to flinch and provided a very brief gap in their fire.

His altitude indicator read only 200 feet.

The first thing that came into view of the plant were two tall buildings, one of them with an AAA battery on top of it. In between them was a crack about 50 feet wide, narrow enough for a fighter jet to pass through.

He immediately pointed his nose toward the crack. Tilting his jet on its side, he passed between the two buildings. One second after he passed through he recalled seeing an Iranian soldier on the ground watching with a blank stare at how remarkably close he had come. The American watched in his rearview mirror as the missile attempted to gain lead and follow him, but smashed into one of the buildings and exploded. The explosion took out the Iranian gunner on the building in the process.

Tony knew he wasn't out of danger yet.

Still in full afterburner, he pulled back on the stick and climbed to get out of AAA range. On his way up he noticed he passed over an SA-22 that was spewing 30mm rounds at him. Tracers the size of tennis balls engulfed his jet. Surprisingly he was not hit and continued his climb away from the plant.

"Smoke One-Zero, All targets destroyed!" said Bulldog in his radio, confirming that Tony's HARM had killed the target.

"Subway to Smoke Flight, you have six hostile bandits inbound from the east, bearing zero-eight-three, angle one-zero, estimate five-three-zero knots plus," said their AWACS operator.

It was then that Tony remembered the J-10 Dragons that were on the way.

He immediately switched his weapons and radar to air-to-air mode to engage the opposing fighters. This was the part of the mission that he had failed the most in his simulations on board the USS George H.W. Bush, making it out alive.

"God, help me," he prayed.

* * *

**Red Crown:** Sorry for the long time in updating. I am so bogged down with school right now. I hope you enjoyed the read. Please review. I am eager to hear what you think of this chapter.

Effective Radiated Power (ERP)

UAV (Unmanned Aerial Vehicle)

R-73 (NATO codename: AA-11 Archer)

R-77 (NATO codename: AA-12 Adder)

Kh-31P (NATO codename: AS-17 Krypton)

Home On Jamming (HOJ)

RAM (Radar Absorbent Material)

ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival)

GLONASS (Global Navigation Satellite System)


	9. Haywire

**Red Crown: In case you haven't heard, we got Osama bin Laden. That was some seriously needed justice!**

_"If you find yourself in a fair fight your tactics suck."_ -Unknown policeman.

* * *

CHAPTER NINE: _**"Haywire"**_

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0435 hours, 4:35 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Over the Persian Gulf**

The E-3 AWACS, callsign "Subway," was conducting C2BM functions around the Bushehr Nuclear facility. Guarding Subway were two F-15C's from the 27th Fighter Squadron.

Shadow flight was closing in on the area and they would be able to provide air cover soon so that the F-15Es could strike the target.

The pilot of the E-3 continued on course until he spotted what looked like a small aircraft closing in on him from his 2 o'clock high though his night vision goggles. It was moving at an incredible speed and leaving a long contrail behind its path. It was then that he realized it was a missile and it was in a direct course for impact. He was completely shocked that the E-3's radar didn't even see it coming.

Immediately he banked hard left and got on the radio with everyone on board his aircraft. "Subway, Spike! Taking evasive maneuv-" He never finished his sentence.

The large Kh-31P shot above him before coming down and slamming into the middle of the fuselage going at a speed faster than that of sound. The warhead exploded and ripped through the fuselage. The shockwave from the blast went throughout the whole cabin, killing the entire crew of thirteen instantly. The plane separated in two and its flaming wreckage went careening through the sky down into the Persian Gulf.

The F-15C pilots immediately alerted Tactical Air Command.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0436 hours, 4:36 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Iran, Skies over the Bushehr Nuclear Weapons Factory**

Tony immediately set his radar to air-to-air TWS mode and found six hostile bandits 35 miles away to his east at 10,000 feet. They were closing the distance rapidly. He knew that they could easily be the flight of J-10 Dragons that had shown up on the radar of the E-3 during their approach to the plant.

He remembered Subway had said that the flight consisted of four earlier, but maybe they had been joined by another flight on patrol.

"One-zero to One-one, we need to kill these bandits fast. I don't think Shadow flight is going to make it here in time to cover our carcasses," said Bulldog.

"Roger that," replied Tony.

He also knew he could not leave until he had killed the J-10s. The J-10 was armed with the SD-10, a Chinese attempt to create a missile comparable to the AMRAAM. The missile had an engagement range of only 43 miles and was not nearly as advanced in seeker technology as its American or Russian counterparts, but it was still a credible threat if given the chance to fire and was just as fast and as maneuverable as the AMRAAM.

The US Navy fighter pilot knew that his best bet was to fire his AMRAAMs now and kill two of them, then let Bulldog fire his and kill another two. To finish off the last two he would need to find a way to close the distance to 15 miles so that he could use his Sidewinders, but he had no idea how he was going to do that.

His RWR was silent at the moment which meant that the J-10s did not yet have a lock on the Americans and were using their radars to scan the sky for them.

"One-zero, let's start from the back. We'll work our way forward. I'll take the farthest two," he said over his radio.

"Roger that," replied his teacher.

His radar warning receiver immediately gave the alarm that he had been locked onto by a hostile air-to-air radar. Tony could see the J-10 flight's speed increase on his radar as they lit their afterburners in pursuit. There was no time to think of a plan to close the distance. A good plan executed now was better than a perfect plan executed later.

The F/A-18E pilot selected his two AMRAAMs and locked onto the farthest two enemies at the back of the formation. The powerful AESA radar allowed him to track and attack multiple targets at the same time. If he started at the back and worked his way forward, then he would have less trouble closing the distance with the closest fighters.

"Smoke One-one engaging. Fox-Three! Fox-Three!" he called out as he pulled the trigger.

Both of the AMRAAMs left the body of his plane. Their engines ignited and the American watched as they shot into the horizon of the early morning at mach 4.0, leaving streaks of smoke from their paths.

"Smoke One-zero engaging! Fox-Three! Fox Three!"

He saw another two AMRAAMs that were distinguishable as tiny streaks of light from their engine exhaust shoot away into the horizon. A timer appeared on his HUD displaying the short amount of time it would take for his missiles to reach the targets: eight seconds.

The timer reached zero and he saw two small explosions appear far ahead of where he was looking. Two more explosions appeared from Bulldog's missiles. Four of the six blips on his radar disappeared.

"Splash Two," called out Tony.

"Splash Two," Bulldog stated as well.

The two remaining J-10's immediately dived into the mountainous region and disappeared from the radar. Whether they were running away or closing the distance was a mystery to the US Navy pilots.

"Smoke One-zero to One-one, they must not know that we're out of AMRAAMs," said Bulldog.

"Should we RTB (return to base), One-zero?" Tony replied as he joined his teacher in formation.

A few seconds passed while Bulldog was thinking the decision over. The J-10s had been within 23 miles when they disappeared. If he did decide to make a dash for the carrier and the J-10s were still there, then he risked having them jump out and shoot them with their backs turned, an ideal place to be for the shooter. However, if they weren't there and he were to wait for them to reappear or hunt for them, then he was using up fuel spending time over hostile territory that was still spitting up massive amounts of AAA fire and had SAMs littered around the area.

That wasn't the only problem. Tony was the only one with any air-to-air armament left. His F/A-18E still had his AIM-9Xs and gun ammunition. Bulldog on the other hand only had air-to-surface weapons and jammers left on his EA-18G.

He checked his fuel status; 44% left. Bulldog knew that Tony had even less fuel since he used his afterburners to dodge the SA-21 shot at him. However, it was still more than enough to last him a flight back to the carrier.

He got on the radio to talk to Subway.

"Smoke Flight to Subway, tell me what you see," he asked.

He received only static on the other end. A few seconds passed before Bulldog decided to repeat himself. He still received blank static. It was as if Subway was not even there. _Were they being jammed?_ he wondered.

It was not good for a fighter to be over hostile skies without the eyes of an AWACS watching over him for long. He then switched the radio to talk to his wingman. "Smoke One-zero to One-one, let's get out of here."

"Roger that," said Tony.

The two fighters of the U.S. Navy climbed to 5,000 feet, all the while Pat still had control of the jammers and was pointing them toward the radar guided AAA sites. They flew southward in a wide curve along the edge of the mountain range where it began to flatten out towards the plant. Their flight path would meet the mountain passage that they had entered the major combat area from. They began to descend to 1,000 feet. If the bandits were there and they decided to attack, then they would need to duel at close range, the only element that the Americans could fight for the moment.

"One-zero, Visual Spike, missiles incoming nine o'clock!" shouted Bulldog.

Tony instinctively looked to his left at a split between the mountain passage six miles away and saw two projectiles racing towards him.

Without the ability to shoot back Bulldog knew that his only real weapon he could use to defend himself were his jammers while he allowed Tony time to kill the bandits. He activated the ALQ-218 wingtip jammers and set them for self-defensive jamming. They emitted a shield of jamming waves around the EA-18G that attempted to confuse enemy electronics. At the same time he began punching flares.

Tony immediately pulled into a hard bank into the missiles. He lifted his head in the cockpit and looked for the incoming projectiles since he had briefly lost sight of them in his turn. The missiles were so fast that by the time he had lifted his head they had already crossed the six miles and were well within 200 meters of him.

For a brief second time seemed to slow down and his senses grew extremely intense as a flood of adrenaline went through his system. His sight was so sharp that he was easily able to see that the missiles were heat seeking PL-8s. One of them had its nose pointed in front of his Super Hornet's nose in a direct course for impact. As it neared 50 meters he could see distinguished Chinese and Arabic writing along the shaft of the missile. At the last possible second the missile dived for a flare and detonated behind him. The missile that had been fired at Bulldog could not withstand the jamming waves and swerved away into the distance.

Tony banked hard left into his attackers and armed one of his AIM-9X Sidewinders. The AIM-9X was linked with his JHMCS which made the missile's seeker look in the direction Tony was looking. He merely had to look at his adversary to obtain a lock.

He looked in the direction that the missiles had come from and discovered only one of the J-10s. It was painted with a light brown desert camouflage and had _IRIAF_ written along its nose.

"_Crap, where's the other?"_ Tony thought. At the same time he realized that he didn't have a second to think. There was only time to react.

"Fox Two!" he called out before he fired.

His Sidewinder shot off from his left wingtip and closed in on the J-10 in nanoseconds. The missile impacted head on with the J-10's nose and the resulting explosion punched deep into the fuselage, incinerating the pilot. The front half of the Chinese fighter disintegrated and the remaining rear end simply tumbled out of control towards the ground, trailing black smoke as it went down.

"Splash three!"

Tony immediately began scanning the sky around him for the second enemy. Suddenly he saw the second J-10 burst through the smoke left by his dead wingman's wreckage with full afterburner. It was then that Tony realized the dreadful truth of what had happened. His opponent had deliberately sent his wingman out in front of him to take the first missile that the Super Hornet pilot would fire. He had intentionally sacrificed his wingman in order to gain a small advantage of distance closure.

The J-10 pilot shut off his afterburner once he had enough speed. The adversary closed the distance to less than 2 miles quickly and opened up his cannon on Tony. The bright streaks of tracer rounds shot through the air behind him and missed. The Super Hornet pilot turned hard towards his opponent so that they were nearly head to head before the J-10 passed over him.

"Smoke One-one, he's at your five o'clock, banking left, moving fast," said Bulldog as he kept track of the bandit.

Tony instinctively maneuvered. Without thinking he went full afterburner and pulled straight up, simultaneously selecting his 20mm cannon. The J-10 pilot maintained his left bank. Tony performed a corkscrew roll over his opponent and came down in a position behind him in a lagging pursuit. On his way down he cut the afterburners off so that he would not overshoot.

The Iranian pilot shifted his bank from left to right in an effort to visually reacquire the American. The move proved to be a big mistake and put him in a perfect place for the Super Hornet pilot to line up his gun site with a little kick of the rudder. Once the bore site was locked on Tony squeezed the trigger.

"Guns, guns, guns!" he called out.

A burst of 20mm rounds cut through the dark sky and sliced into the J-10's body. The high explosive rounds penetrated the fuselage and caused severe damage. The engine went ablaze. The right canard and wing were ripped off. Hydraulic fluid leaked away as the pilot lost control and his plane began to roll. The Iranian realized that he was out of options and Tony was able to see the small exhaust from the rockets of his ejection seat go off as he ditched his wounded aircraft.

"Smoke One-one, Splash four!" Tony called. Partially surprised at what he had done. He had no thought process during the whole fight. It had been entirely effortless.

"Nice job, One-one. Let's RTB," Bulldog replied as they formed up again.

Just then another voice came on the radio.

"This is Shadow Two-four, we have the area. Dodge Flight's ETA to target is two minutes."

The F-22s had arrived as well as the F-15Es. Baker's callsign was Dodge 63 while Nathan's was Dodge 62. The F-15E's were high at 12,000 feet coming in for their bombing run. The Raptors were at 14,000 feet and 15 miles behind the Strike Eagles. The Raptors began using their radars to search the sky for enemy aircraft.

The US Navy pilots knew that they had finished their job in removing the SAMs and allowed the F-15Es enough of a clean piece of air to line up for a bombing run. Just as Bulldog and Tony entered the ravine to return to the USS Bush, they spotted a single fighter jet coming opposite their direction through the ravine and approaching them head on. The jet zoomed right between their formation at a speed almost too fast for the Naval Aviators to identify and headed straight in a direction for the Strike Eagles. Tony, Bulldog, and Pat were startled by the aircraft, which they all recognized as a Flanker. Tony could have sworn he saw a black five-pointed star with something centered in it on the right side of the aircraft behind the cockpit.

"Bandit six o'clock high" Tony shouted as he saw the enemy aircraft and prepared to turn and engage him.

"Do not engage, One-one. We don't have the fuel. Leave it to Shadow flight." Bulldog responded.

Tony examined his fuel gauge and saw that Bulldog was right. He had about 27% left. "Roger that," replied Tony as he got back in formation with his teacher and entered the ravine pass.

Bulldog immediately began using his secure network connection to transmit the incoming contact to Shadow Flight.

* * *

Krylov had heard the radio calls made by the Iranians as they engaged the enemy and used their radio calls to track where he thought the American's would be. He streaked into the combat area at twice the speed of sound. It was then that his radar picked up the signature of two F-15Es closing in on the reactor's. He guessed that they were carrying heavy ordinance to destroy the now defenseless nuclear reactors since the Hornets had eleminated the SA-21's.

He decided that he would rather kill the Strike Eagles first, then go after the Hornets. He turned on his OLS-35 infra-red sensor and had come to discover that there were two new aircraft in the area behind the F-15Es. Since his radar had tracked only the Strike Eagles and could not pick up these two aircraft, he figured that they must be stealth fighters. The only question he had then was whether they were F-35s or F-22s. He hoped that they were F-22s since they would make for more satisfying kills.

The Russian checked his armament: Two L175M Khibiny-M wing-tip jamming pods, three R-74MEs and one R-73R, two R-77Ts , and two R-77Ms.

The KNIRTI L175M Khibiny-M wing-tip jamming pod was capable of accurate detection of threats, threat coordinate mapping, and jamming signal generation as well as emission replication or imitation. It was a state of the art jammer and was excellent for confusing enemy aircraft radars or finding and hunting them down.

The R-74ME (NATO codename: AA-11 Archer) was a short-range heat-seeking air-to-air missile and the successor to the R-73.

The R-73R was a version of the R-73 that was mounted onto the jet backwards and would fire at enemies toward the rear of the jet.

The R-77M (NATO codename: AA-12 Adder) was an active radar guided, medium-range air-to-air missile and the Russian copy of the American AIM-120 AMRAAM.

The R-77T was a medium range, heat-seeking version of the R-77.

If he ran out of missiles or the enemy got too close, then he would need to resort to his GSh-30-1 cannon with 150 rounds of 30mm ammunition. It only took one or two 30mm rounds to destroy an enemy fighter.

He selected his two R-77Ms and obtained a lock on both the F-15Es. "Pheonix Zero, Fox Three!" He called out and fired, then switched to his R-77Ts to initiate an old Soviet tactic.

* * *

Baker and Nathan's RWR flared with an incoming missile warning and displayed the missiles approaching from their two o'clock low.

"Dodge Six-two, Spike!" called out Nathan.

"Spike! Dodge Six-two, Break right!" Baker shouted as he pulled into a hard right bank.

Nathan immediately went into a hard bank as well and suddenly found himself struck by the idea that someone was actually trying to kill him.

Both F-15E's began ejecting chaff and flare. The missiles were zooming at them at a ridiculous rate and seemed to arrive almost instantly. Baker pulled his bank downward when the missile came into view, using all of his energy that his fighter had built up from gaining speed. The R-77M shot right by him and barely missed, spoofed my his hard maneuvering. Once the missile had gone by his RWR went silent.

Nathan reversed his bank and pulled hard. He saw the R-77M missile slam into a cloud of chaff behind him. His RWR went silent after the missile passed by.

Baker was relieved that he had escaped from the enemy missile. However it was then that he saw another missile closing in on him from the exact same direction that the first had come from. He wanted to maneuver to avoid it, but he had spent all his energy dodging the first shot and found himself unable to turn hard enough. The last thought that went through Baker's mind was anger at himself for making such a mistake.

The heat-seeking R-77T slammed into the left side of his Strike Eagle's intake and detonated right behind his cockpit. The exploding rod warhead spread searing hot shrapnel that ate into the entire airframe, including the canopy. Both pilot and WSO were killed quickly and the F-15E spiraled towards the ground, breaking apart in the air as it went.

Nathan saw how Baker was killed and learned quickly from it. He immediately rolled inverted, lit the afterburner, and pulled hard into a dive to seize more speed, still ejecting chaff and flares in the process. He watched as a second missile came and detonated behind him. He felt the body of his aircraft jerk hard as bits of shrapnel penetrated into his bird. He pulled out of the dive and after a brief examination of his rear saw that the damage was not severe. He watched as a Flanker shot by him and raced towards the area that he knew Shadow Flight was in.

He decided to leave the Flanker to Shadow Flight. Once Nathan thought he was clear he headed for the Nuclear Reactors in full afterburner at 2,000 feet. He was determined to drop his load on the target even if it killed him. Romeo activated the targeting pod underneath the F-15E's body and used a laser to paint the spot in between the Nuclear reactors, which were side-by-side with a few yards in between.

* * *

Zander and Scorch both saw a single radar contact 18 miles away from them and racing towards them at mach 1.9. They instantly locked onto the unknown aircraft with AIM-120 AMRAAMs. They had seen it fire the missiles at Dodge Flight so they knew that they didn't need to use an IFF squawk. Plus they had recieved the transmission from Smoke Flight that let them know it was a hostile bandit.

"Shadow Two-four engaging. Fox Three."

"Shadow Two-five engaging. Fox Three."

The underbay doors on each Raptor opened and let loose an AIM-120. Each stealth fighter pilot saw their weapon streak off into the dark sky and zoom towards the enemy at mach 4.

Just then they recieved several false enemy radar contacts that seemed to appear out of thin air between them and the Bandit. Both AMRAAMs lost sight of their target as the Raptor pilots discovered their radars had been reduced by powerful jammers.

"Missile shot trashed. What the hell? Where is this jamming coming from?" said Scorch as he watched the missiles hit empty pieces of sky.

Their voices on the radio became somewhat scrambled with static as they spoke because of the jamming interference.

"Switch to Sidewinders, Shadow Two-Five!" Zander replied. However, all Scorch could hear was "... Sidewinders... Two-fi..."

Both F-22 Raptor pilots switched to their AIM-9X Sidewinder missiles, which were much less susceptible to jammers.

When they had lost track of the bandit that killed Baker he was closing with them head on. Fighters moving at supersonic speeds coming towards each other could close miles of distance very quickly and the Raptor drivers knew that it was extremely important to find him before he found them.

Their RWRs, the Raptor's of which could detect heat seeking missiles, went off indicating an enemy heat seeking missile launch.

"Spike!" both Americans shouted simultaneously while breaking hard away from each other. They ejected flares as two of the enemy's R-74MEs shot by them from ahead and barely missed a head on collision.

Suddenly they saw a Flanker merge with them at an amazing speed. Immediately both Raptors banked hard towards the enemy to engage.

* * *

Tony, Bulldog, and Pat were heading through the mountains back the way they came when suddenly they recieved an urgent message from their satellite links.

"This is Angel Eye to Smoke Flight, you need to turn around. You are heading into a trap!" came a female voice.

The naval aviators were confused. U.S. Naval fleets always had an E-2D Hawkeye AWACs aircraft in the air to monitor the area when they were on deployment. Angel Eye was the callsign of the Hawkeye that was on station at the time they launched for the mission.

"This is Smoke One-Zero to Angel Eye, what happened to Subway?" Bulldog asked.

"Angel Eye to Smoke, they were taken out by a long range cruise missile. We were moved in to replace them," came the reply. "Smoke Flight, you have about thirty hostile bandits going opposite along your entry point, three-zero miles from you, and hunting the area for you. They moved in after Subway was taken out and we had no coverage of the area. You need to turn around now."

"Smoke to Angel Eye, we are at bingo fuel, we don't have any alternative routes."

"Angel Eye to Smoke, you can head back and past the target area, then into the mountains north of Bushehr. You will exit over the Persian Gulf. Your route will be downloaded into your computers via data link. Another AWACs will guide you from there."

"Roger, Angel Eye," replied Bulldog

Tony, Bulldog, and Pat turned around and came to the conclusion that the entire plan just went haywire.

* * *

"Dodge Six-Two, Pickle!" Nathan called out as he dropped the GBU-60.

He had achieved a good bombing path and let loose the bomb while moving at the speed of sound. The increased speed would make the bomb's impact more intense. Nathan was extremely glad as he watched his bomb leave towards the target. It was then that he wondered exactly what was so special about the GBU-60. Both F-15E operators looked through the feed coming in from their LITENING advanced targeting and navigation pod as the bomb glided to the target.

The GBU-60 began to glow red hot as it was falling in flight. It suddenly unleashed a high powered beam of light from its nose that melted a hole deep into the earth where the laser tagged the ground. Right after the hole was melted into the ground the bomb glided right down into it.

"So that's what it does," Romeo said with satisfaction.

Just then the bomb went off and the blast was far bigger than either Nathan or Romeo could have hoped. There was a loud crack of thunder as if ten bolts of lightning had struck at the same time. The area within half a mile of the impact point lifted up a yard off the ground, including both nuclear reactors, and erupted like a volcano. A massive orange cloud of fire and black smoke shot up from the ground into the sky and illuminated the nearby facilities. Flames enveloped the area as the nuclear reactors were completely obliterated. A mushroom cloud the size of a small mountain lifted off of the destruction and enshrouded the buildings nearby.

"Holy crap! Target destroyed!" Nathan shouted over his radio.

* * *

Scorch had pulled into a right bank into the enemy, while Zander went into a climb. "Two-four, he's at your three o'clock, Two-five!"

"I see him!" Scorch said as he turned towards the enemy. He turned as hard as he could, but to his surprise the Flanker out turned him and got it's gun pointed in front of his Raptor's nose. In the split nano-second that he realized the Flanker was going to outturn him he reacted and pulled up into a climb.

The Flanker's 30mm cannon let off a burst of rounds that whizzed by inches away from the underside of Scorch's F-22. The American pilot went into full afterburner and climbed higher. The Flanker went into full afterburner and climbed in pursuit. At the same time the enemy pilot used his helmet mounted sights to lock onto Zander with an R-74ME.

Zander rolled downward and dived in on the Flanker. Just as he was trying to lock onto the Flanker with his Sidewinder the adversary, while still in a climbing pursuit of Scorch, fired a heat-seeking R-74ME missile at him. The missile went straight up and smashed into Zander's Raptor head on. The warhead ensnared the F-22 in a ball of fire and snuffed out the life of the pilot. The front half of the aircraft was entirely thrashed with shrapnel. The Raptor fell out of control and went hurdling down to the shore of Iran in a fiery wreck.

Scorch rolled right and pulled hard out of the climb and into a screeching dive. The Flanker followed with dogged persistence.

* * *

Now that Nathan and Romeo had bombed the target they knew they could head for home, but saw that Shadow flight had their hands full. It was then that Nathan remembered it was this bandit who had killed his instructor. He lit his afterburner and headed in pursuit of the enemy fighter. He tried to acquire a lock with one of his AMRAAMs, but found that his radar was reduced by heavy jamming coming from the Flanker.

He selected one of his AIM-9M Sidewinders, which were an older yet still reliable version of the Sidewinder missile. It had a short range of five miles so he needed to close the distance a great deal.

He watched as Scorch began jinking in every which way to avoid letting the Flanker acquire a gun solution on him.

However the Flanker kept moving in a pattern that he thought would not be good for a missile shot. He wanted to get a shot at the bandit's rear. "Shadow Two-four, bank right now!" He shouted into his radio.

By some miracle Scorch heard it. "I copy," Scorch replied as he turned hard right.

The Flanker followed and exposed its rear to the Strike Eagle pilot. At that moment Nathan achieved a lock on the Russian-made aircraft.

"Fox Two!" he called out and fired his Sidewinder.

The Flanker pilot saw the missile and reacted. He ejected flares, rolled wings level, kicked in full afterburner, and went into a steep climb. The Russian aircraft's turn into the climb was so sharp that the AIM-9M could not match it and passed under him, missing him by several feet. The move cost him valuable speed, which he recovered in a near instant by pushing down on the stick and setting his nose earthward while giving himself a short burst of afterburner before turning to reengage Scorch. At the same time he selected his rear-ward firing R-73R, obtained a lock on Nathan, and fired to counter the attack. The whole process was an incredible feat of focus, situational awareness, and multi-tasking on the pilot's side.

The Strike Eagle driver was shocked to see the missile heading towards him from the Flanker's rear and immediately pulled into a tight downward left bank while releasing flares. The R-73R didn't go for the flares. The projectile rammed into the underbelly of his Boeing-built machine. The weapon discharged and tore the right engine out of its socket. The right wing and tail were violently taken off. The F-15E spiraled out of Nathan's control. With all other options expended the United States Air Force pilot reached down to his ejection handle and pulled knowing full well that the only thing under him was Iranian sand.

* * *

**Red Crown: Thank you, reviewers, for you input. Please review. It makes me produce the next chapter sooner.**


	10. Blink Twice

**Red Crown: Thanks for the reviews guys. Glad that some of you find Krylov more believable than Markov. I put quite a bit of work making the personalities of my characters. I'm also a history major and worked tried my best to grasp each sides point of view.  
**

"_It is generally inadvisable to eject directly over the area you just bombed."_ –Murphy's 54th Law of Combat

* * *

CHAPTER TEN: _**"Blink Twice"**_

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0445 hours, 4:45 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Over the Persian Gulf**

The Naval Aviators returned to the Bushehr nuclear facilities. Pat immediately blasted the radar guided AAA sites with jamming waves so that they could pass through. Tony scanned the air with his IRST and had come to find that there was a large fire where the reactors once were. _"That's good," _he thought.

He then used his IRST to scan the sky for any aircraft, friend or foe. Tony knew that there were four allied aircraft sent into the area and the enemy Flanker. Right now there were three aircraft. One of the infrared contacts was going down in flames while the other two were in a heated engagement. He decided to make his IRST scan the contact that was going down in flames and pulled up a high resolution live feed of it.

What he saw shocked him and would stay ingrained in his memory forever: an F-15E, which he knew belonged to either Nathan or Baker, breaking apart in mid-air as the occupants ditched out. He was at a loss for words.

Anger began to get to him and he switched his IRST to look directly at the aircraft engaged with each other and saw that it was the Flanker whom he let pass by due to their fuel shortage. He wanted to move in and assist the F-22A, however he knew he didn't have the fuel to change his flight course to engage the Flanker and still have enough to make it through the mountains. The Flanker was out of reach of his AIM-9X so he knew he couldn't use it. He tried to communicate via radio with the F-22A, but found that there was heavy jamming coming from the Flanker.

It was then that he got an idea. His passive radar guided AGM-88E was designed to lock onto sources of radio waves. The jammers on the Flanker made a perfect target for his AGM-88E to lock onto; however, the AGM-88E was not a dogfighting missile and would be hardly likely to actually hit the Flanker. It would still be good enough to give him a scare. If Bulldog fired his remaining HARM it would hopefully allow enough room for the F-22 to escape the engagement.

"Bulldog, there's a bandit engaged with a member of Shadow flight about two-zero miles out over the coast. My HARM can lock on to his jammers. They probably won't hit him, but if we both fire it could shake him off," Tony said over the radio.

"Let's do it," came the quick reply.

They both locked onto the bandit with their AGM-88's and fired.

"Magnum!" Tony called out.

"Magnum," Bulldog called.

With the missiles on their way, both Naval Aviators headed for another mountain pass at the north eastern end of the facility. Just as Angel Eye had said a satellite downloaded a path into their computers and they headed into another ravine.

* * *

Scorch was frantically maneuvering his F-22A and, although he was pushing his aircraft and himself to the absolute maximum limit, he found that he was barely able to keep the Flanker from getting a gun solution much less get him off his six o'clock. This enemy pilot was extremely skilled. He knew what he was doing and how to execute it with flawless perfection. His crazy maneuvering made him highly unpredictable and he was an excellent aerial marksmen with his 30mm cannon.

Just then his F-22A's advanced RWR tracked two missiles closing in on the Flanker. The Flanker pilot must have realized that he had been attacked and turned hard southward in full afterburner, releasing chaff and flare at the same time.

Scorch decided to let those missiles take care of the enemy aircraft and went into full afterburner to escape. His satellite feed showed that the Iranians were moving mobile SAMs into the area to counter the American fighters and the sooner he was gone the better.

"Shadow Two-Five, bugging out," He called on the radio before heading back over the Persian Gulf. He cut his afterburners and began to supercruise his way out.

* * *

Nathan landed hard on the sand. He disconnected himself from his parachute and watched as it was blown away by a cool breeze.

It was dark and he could hardly see anything. He knew he was standing on dry sand and the scent of the ocean was nearby. The only light that was available was coming from the fires of the burning nuclear facilities that he had bombed, which he was standing one mile from. Everything else around him was dark.

A sudden and terrifying wave of dread swept through his mind. He was standing on Iranian soil after having let loose the bomb that annihilated their dictator's nuclear facilities.

Just then he saw another dark figure wearing a parachute and falling from the sky. He recognized it as Romeo.

The WSO landed hard as well. Nathan immediately ran to him to assist him in getting his parachute off. Once the parachute was gone he realized that Romeo wasn't able to stand up, despite repeated efforts to get on his feet.

"I think my leg is broken," Romeo said with a grimace.

Nathan looked at his friend's leg and saw that the lower part of his leg where his shin connected to his ankle was abnormally bent to the right. "We need to get out of here now. Come on, I'll carry you," Nathan said as he put Romeo's arm over his shoulder and helped him up.

Just as he began to move away from the facilities he saw a pair of head lights shining on him from the facilities. His eyes focused on them and he saw three cars making a bee line straight for him and Romeo. They were less than a mile away and closing the distance rapidly.

Romeo noticed them too and instinctively pulled out his pistol. Nathan tried to move faster, but soon realized that he had no where to run or hide and his attempts were futile. He kept trying to move faster.

"Just drop me, man. I'm slowing you down," Romeo stated.

"Although it is tempting just because you think I can't fly the plane without you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did that," Nathan retorted jokingly.

The armored cars caught up with them and they were well within eye view as the cars stopped only 100 feet away. The doors opened and several Iranian soldiers climbed out, armed with automatic rifles and Russian-made night vision goggles.

Romeo immediately pushed Nathan away, balanced himself on his good leg, and began firing at the soldiers with his pistol. In doing so he proved that he would rather die than be taken alive. One of the Iranian soldiers granted his wish and unleashed a volley of automatic fire from his AK-47 that ripped right through Romeo's body. Blood stained the sand behind him and his body violently jerked at the impact.

Nathan was horrified by the sight of Jake Mafez's broken, tattered form hitting the ground and found himself paralyzed by it. The soldiers quickly came upon him, disarmed him, cuffed him, and loaded him in the truck before driving away at a quick pace.

* * *

Tony, Bulldog, and Pat followed the path marked out on their satellite feed through the mountains and made it to an alternative exit. The mountains had left their forward view and now the Persian Gulf was in full view. Both fighters became "Feet Wet," a term meaning they were now flying over water. Bulldog began to climb to reach a more fuel efficient altitude for a cruising path and Tony followed him.

Suddenly their radios picked up a signal. A voice in a British accent began speaking, "This is Biscuit Seven-Nine, I have two radar contacts heading out over the Persian Gulf, bearing two-eight-three, climbing to angle one-two. You're IFF registers as friendly. Are you the Yanks?"

Bulldog flipped on his radar and discovered ten contacts 14 miles ahead of him, all heading northwest. Eight of the contacts flew in two fighter formations at 15,000 feet while one rested high above the others at 20,000 feet. The last contact was far away at 50 miles behind, which made Bulldog assume that it was an AWACS. He sent an IFF squawk to each flight and received a tone, indicating that they were friendlies. He got on the radio. "That's affirmative. This is Smoke Flight," he replied.

"Biscuit Seven-Nine to Smoke, What's your fuel status?"

"Smoke to Biscuit, we are at Joker fuel. If we punch out over the Gulf is there someone that can pick us up?"

"Biscuit to Smoke, that won't be necessary. Tanker's at twenty-thousand. Can you reach it?"

Bulldog checked his fuel and saw that he was at 11%. He knew Tony was even lower. "Negative, Biscuit. Can the tanker come down and meet us?"

"Affirmative. The tanker will come down and meet you, Smoke," came the reply.

He used his radar to track the tanker's descent and made a course to intercept it. Two of the fighters came down to escort it. Once it came into view he recognized it as a KC-45 tanker. The fighters were EF-2000 Typhoons, one of which had a line of bullet wounds through its wing and fuselage. Bulldog let Tony hook up with the tanker first before letting his own bird take a drink.

As the EA-18G was being filled Tony looked to the British pilot on his right with the battle damage.

"Hey, you, to my right," he said and tried to get his attention.

The British pilot looked at him confirming that he heard him.

"How'd that happen?" he said pointing to the bullet marks.

"Got a little too low to the ground and an A-A gunner left his impression on me," he joked.

Tony chuckled at the remark. The pilots of the British Royal Air Force were among the best in the world and he was glad to have them on the same side.

With their internal and external fuel tanks topped off the U.S. Naval Aviators turned southwest and headed for Ali al Salim Air Base, Kuwait. As they were leaving they could not help but wonder how the F-15E crew that ejected over Iran was fairing.

* * *

The cars stopped at the gate of Iran's Sixth TAB, the nearest military base. The soldiers rushed him out of the car and into the base. They went to a bland looking building, which Nathan could only guess was the brig. Before he knew it, he ended up in a small, dark cell chained to a chair with a bright light shining in his face. To his right was a table with a set of sharp metal devices and bottles that he could only guess would be used to torture him.

Just then a Persian man walked in wearing a lab coat, a surgical mask, and tinted glasses.

He leaned over the chair and said in perfect English with a voice that was subtle, yet terrifying, "I'm a doctor, I was educated in your country. You're going to answer every question I ask you or you will wish you were in hell compared to what I am about to put you through."

Nathan hated when his guesses were right.

"Do you understand?" said the masked Persian.

Nathan's instant response to danger was to crack a joke or two. In this case it was almost no different. He replied back in Spanish that he remembered from high school classes, "No hablo ingles." _I don't speak English_

The doctor replied back in perfect Spanish, _"I will have more fun playing this game than you will."_

The doctor turned to the table. Nathan's sense of humor slowly began to fade away as the doctor's hand scanned over several of the tools. His hand stopped on a simple glass tube with an ugly brown colored liquid inside of it. He picked the tube up and removed the cover before returning to Nathan.

The doctor lifted the flight suit sleeve on Nathan's left arm and poured a single drop on his exposed skin.

Nathan began to feel a burning sensation almost immediately. The burning evolved into excruciating pain as he watched the skin on his arm begin to dissolve. The pain constantly increased as the acid ate deeper. The doctor watched with only a slight hint of pleasure as the U.S. Air Force pilot let out a scream of agony.

* * *

Vanya began pacing in her room. She had not slept at all during the entire night. It had little to do with the attack and more to do with her planning. She had been brain storming all night on what would be the best method to leave her life behind her.

After making many calculations she determined that the best way to leave the country was by air and that if she was going to leave at all she had to make it look like she was dead so that there was no trail left to follow for any SVR agents that might be hunting her.

The real problem was finding a pilot to take her to where she wanted to go. She immediately ruled out airliners since international airlines had tight security that could not be penetrated without help from inside. She wanted a military transport, but that was a slightly bigger problem since nearly all Iran's military pilots were picked for their loyalty to the regime rather than their skill. She doubted that any Iranian military pilots would be willing to look the other way.

If what her father was saying about the Russian-Islamic Empire was true, then all flights out of Iran must have an IFF that matches that of other militaries of the alliance and she had no clue how she was going to get pass that, unless she had a Russian or Islamic military aircraft. If the Russian Prime Minister was going to start a war, then nearly all avenues of travel would cease and she was certain that once that started her chances of escape would go to zip. The SVR would throw her back into another mission. They could throw her back into a mission at nearly any minute and if they wanted her to perform even her father could not guarantee that she would remain on the base. She had to act as soon as possible.

She heard that an American pilot had been brought in after he was shot down during the strike on the nuclear reactors. She knew that they were interrogating him right now.

Vanya's mind began to slowly lean on the idea of breaking the American out and making him fly an Iranian jet from the base for her. It was the fastest and most sure way to make it out alive. She didn't know where she was going to land, but at the moment getting off the base and away from her Russian bosses was what mattered most. There were two problems. One was getting in a position to see the American without drawing suspicion and the other was communicating the plan to him. She was pretty confident that the American would say yes since his only other option would be to stay here and suffer. The last factor in her decision making process was time. She knew she had to move quickly before the Iran Revolutionary Guard took him to one of their head facilities, which were deeper in Iran and nearly impenetrable, or worse the American was interrogated to the point of being unable to carry out her plan. The time to leave was now.

She knew that if she was going to talk to him at all it had to be something about Russian military affairs. Vanya remembered hearing her father brag about how his right hand man, a fighter pilot named Krylov, had shot him down. Maybe she could find some way to talk to him about the engagement. The Russian woman quickly left out the door of her base quarters. Both of the body guards that her father had hired followed close behind, completely unaware of what was going on in her mind.

* * *

Nathan was on the verge of breaking.

The doctor decided to give him a little break and put him in solitary confinement. It was more of a psychological method of torture than a physical one. Anxiety built up in Nathan at the horrible thoughts of what the doctor might do next.

As of yet Nathan was unable to stand on his feet since the doctor had taken a power drill with a long modified head that was specifically shaped into a sharp, flesh cutting point and drilled three holes in each of his thighs, only stopping once the point of his drill touched the thigh bone. He had put two drops of highly concentrated acid on his left arm, which resulted in a third degree chemical burn about the size of a quarter. On his right arm the doctor had decided to test using a sharpened potato peeler to peel a shred of skin 2 inches in width and length off his body. The doctor then wanted to avoid letting the wounds get infection so he clean them all with salt, which resulted in even more pain. The doctor then left the room and told him that he was only getting warmed up.

Nathan was fighting mental shock from the pain. His mind was reeling and he began to go through all the options he had. He first considered stopping his own breathing so that he could hopefully take his own life, but after trying twice found that he could not do it.

While he was tortured his life flashed through his mind and he remembered being a little boy and going to church. He remembered his youth group leader once telling him that if he was ever in trouble to call out to God for help. He stopped going to church and caring about God when he went to high school. Now that there was literally nothing else he could do calling out to God did not seem like a bad idea.

"God, please get me out of here," he prayed. He didn't know if he was even praying right, but he figured if God was God then He should be able to hear him.

"I'm sorry I ignored you since high school. I will do anything you want me to do if you will get me out of here. I'll never fight with my brother again. I'll be a good boy," he said hoping that God would act if he offered to stop doing the things he was raised to believe were bad. In a last ditch effort he said, "I'll even get married... to the first beautiful woman I see."

Seconds went by and the door opened. What he could honestly say was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life walked into the room.

She brought in a chair and sat down across from him. "Listen up, you stupid American, I have been granted special authority to question you about your engagement with the Russian aircraft that you encountered this morning. My name is Vanya Maraklova and you had better answer each question truthfully."

The woman reached into her coat and pulled out a set of flash cards. She held the first one infront of her with both hands so that he could read it. The first one read:

_This room is wired with microphones. I need your help to escape this place. Do you agree? Blink __twice__ to answer "yes" and __once__ to answer "no," but keep talking. If we are silent they will get suspicious._

Nathan blinked twice, slightly unable to believe what was happening.

"Listen, you dog of an American, if you don't start talking I'll bring the doctor back in here! I know you don't want that!" she shouted to provoke him to go along with the conversation.

"Okay, I'll talk! Just don't bring that crazy guy back in here!" he responded.

While they kept the conversation about his fight with what he just now figured out was a Russian mercenary pilot she flipped to the next card.

_Are you able to walk?_

He blinked once. She flipped to the next card.

_Are you still able to fly an aircraft?_

He blinked twice. She slid the next card into view.

_If I want to reside in your country as a citizen will you negotiate with your government to help me?_

He blinked twice. She went to the next card.

_I'm going to come back here in one hour and I will break you out. We will need to make our way to a nearby aircraft speedily. I'll have a diversion set up to help us. Until then I want you to hold on a little longer and answer whatever questions they ask you. Lie if you have to. Act as if they have broken you._

"Have I made myself clear?" she said as she finished the conversation.

Once he had finished reading her flashcard Nathan began nodding his head. "Absolutely," he said.

With that she got up and left the room. Nathan was completely stunned, but now full of hope he felt ten times better.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0525 hours, 5:25 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Over the Persian Gulf waters near Kuwait**

The sky was beginning to light up. Clouds were scattered across the heavens. The aviators of the U.S. Navy began their ingress towards Kuwait.

"Smoke Flight to Big Al, mission accomplished. Requesting clearance to land," Pat called out on the radio. "Big Al" was the callsign of Ali al Salim Air Base.

To her surprise the radio operator replied, "Negative, Smoke Flight, you do not have clearance to land. By order of the President of Kuwait you must not land on any air strip in Kuwait. If you attempt to land we will scramble fighter aircraft to shoot you down."

"What?" Pat said in disbelief.

The Kuwaiti operator got back on the radio. "You have no clearance to land. Kuwait will never again be a stronghold for American Imperialists to start their wars! What you have done in Iran is unacceptable and you are no longer allowed to take refuge in this country. By order of the President of Kuwait all American military bases are to halt all military operations, including recovery of aircraft."

"Is this guy joking?" asked Tony.

"Negative," replied Bulldog, who had the EA-18G's radar on. "I'm tracking several Kuwaiti F/A-18C's taking off to intercept us. They're serious about this."

Just then Tony saw a fighter jet descend from the clouds roughly 500 feet above him. He recognized it as an F-22A.

"This is Shadow Two-five, you guys running into the same problem? I've been up here in a holding pattern for a good half hour and I'm running low on fuel. The nearest U.S. air strip is in Bahrain and I would run out before I made it halfway there," he said.

The F-22A had a large fuel capacity, which happened to be a good thing for the Raptor pilot since he still had some left over after the fight.

"We hooked up with a British tanker earlier. They have probably left the area by now," said Pat "We need to find another tanker for you. Let me see if one is in the area."

Pat took control of the radar and scanned the skies to the south, west, and north. She saw a large number of contacts 40 miles north over the Persian Gulf and heading west into Kuwaiti airspace that led to Iraq. Maybe it was the same tanker fleet that they had hooked up with earlier. "Shadow Two-four, I have some contacts forty miles north and crossing into Kuwaiti air space. It looks like they're heading for Iraq, but it might be the allied strike group we hooked up with earlier," she said. Just as she began to vector him for a course for intercept, Bulldog cut her off.

"Ignore that vector. Get in box formation. We're going there together," Bulldog stated.

Tony maneuvered his F/A-18E in formation behind him and to his right, while Scorch positioned his F-22A to fall in behind him and to his left. Bulldog, being the highest ranking officer, was at the head.

Pat switched off the radio to talk to Bulldog so that the others couldn't hear. "Sir, Tony and us have enough fuel to make it back to the USS Bush. There is no need for all of us to follow him. If he bails out he'll be fine over allied territory. We don't even know if that allied strike group has enough fuel to accommodate us or if they'd be willing to let us join them in the first place," she stated.

"Thanks for the concern, Lieutenant, but when I want your opinion I'll ask for it. One of our traditional allies just turned its back on us and we're not going to leave Shadow in their air space on his own," Bulldog replied in a terse voice.

Pat complied and vectored Bulldog to an intercept course.

* * *

**Red Crown: Thank you for your reviews. They fuel me to write faster. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am very interested in what you think of this chapter so please let me know!**


	11. Sinking Joy

_"The care of human life and happiness, and not their destruction, is the first and only object of good government."_ -Thomas Jefferson

* * *

CHAPTER ELEVEN: _**"Sinking Joy"**_

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0555 hours, 5:55 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: 28,000 feet over Northern Kuwait**

The U.S. military aircraft continued their course to intercept the group of contacts, which were hopefully the allied strike group. Tony looked at his MFD, which currently displayed his RWR, to keep track of the Kuwaiti F/A-18Cs that were following them from 40 miles behind.

The radar contacts were now within range for an open channel radio signal. Bulldog sent an IFF squawk and received a tone. Pat got on the radio to communicate.

"This is Smoke Flight to contacts bearing three-two-zero, angle one-five, three-zero-zero plus knots, crossing into Iraqi air space. Are you the Brits?" she said somewhat mimicking the earlier conversation when they first met over the Gulf.

After a few seconds they received a reply. "This is Biscuit Seven-nine to Smoke Flight, why are you moving to an intercept course? State your intentions." The British voice seemed somewhat stern as if he was almost interrogating a possible enemy.

"Smoke Flight to Biscuit, the President of Kuwait has ordered that all U.S. bases be shut down and any attempt to land will result in an immediate offense action," Pat started. "We have a man low on fuel. We request permission for you to refuel him so that he may land in Bahrain."

"Smoke Flight, we'll comply with your request to refuel your man, but once he is full he won't be able to land in Bahrain," said the British pilot in a now relaxed voice.

"Please explain, Biscuit?"

"Bahrain has closed down all United States military bases as well. We had some Typhoons and Strike Eagles take off from there to perform a strike during the mission. They were refused clearance to land and ran out of fuel a couple minutes ago. Before you contacted us we tried to receive clearance to land in our base in Iraq, but they have refused clearance for any foreign aircraft to land. When we asked why they would only say that they are taking a neutral stance toward all nations for the present time and will let us know when that stance has been lifted," the Englishman replied.

"So what's your plan, Biscuit Seven-nine?" asked Pat. She looked at her satellite map and noticed that they were now crossing into Iraqi airspace. Once they crossed the border the Kuwaiti F/A-18Cs turned around and headed back to their base.

"We contacted all of our original landing bases and the Israelis in our group are the only ones that seem to have not shut the door in our face. We're going to cross through Iraq and pass over Jordan, then land in Israel. We'll refuel in Israel, then head back to England. We have just enough fuel to get us to Israel and we can support you if need be. Care to join us?"

Bulldog stuck his hand up in the cockpit so that Pat could see him give a thumbs up.

"That's affirmative, Biscuit Seven-nine. Smoke Flight will join," she replied on the radio.

As the Americans closed in on their allies they finally saw the make of every single aircraft. They included one flight of four British EF-2000s, one flight of four Israeli F-16Is, a KC-45 tanker, and an Israeli Air Force Phalcon 707 AWACS. The Americans were very surprised to see the Israelis and British were operating so close to each other.

Scorch closed in on the tanker and the crew responded by lowering the refueling boom.

While the Raptor pilot was refueling Tony set his autopilot to match the course and altitude of the allied strike group. The computers on his Super Hornet immediately guided the plane so that it would follow the strike group in formation and allowed its pilot to take his hands off the controls and relax. This was the first moment Tony had to reflect on the past few hours. Despite the fact that the major action had already passed he found himself sweating. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were shaking. The adrenaline rush had faded nearly an hour ago, but the raw shock of what he had done and seen began to take full effect. He had engaged in war. He had killed men, even watched their bodies be incinerated by his powerful weapons, and faced missiles and rounds intended to take him out. The all too penetrating fear of death had left him feeling like his bones had marrowed into battery acid.

Worst of all was that picture imbedded in the back of his brain of the F-15E going down in flames. He still could not describe the sick feeling in his gut once he had seen what he knew could very well have been his best friend and training partner shot out of the sky and eject over Iran, where God knows what would happen to him. He said a quick prayer for the F-15E crew in hoping that wherever they were they would be alright and either make it out alive or at the very least die a quick and painless death.

In spite of all of this there was still the joyful thought that he had significantly hindered the Iranians from supplying terrorists with nuclear weapons and shown them that America was always ready for a fight any where and any time.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0620 hours, 6:20 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Iran, Sixth Tactical Air Base North of the port city of Bushehr**

The doctor opened the door again and entered the room.

"Are you ready to talk now?" he asked the U.S. Air Force pilot.

Nathan remained silent. The doctor reached for one of his tools again before Nathan spoke up. "Wait!"

The doctor paused.

_"Act as if they have broken you," _he repeated in his head. "Alright, what do you want to know?" he asked.

"First, what was the type of bomb that was used to destroy the Nuclear plants?"

Nathan paused briefly. He didn't know what kind of bomb it was.

"It was a micro-fusion bomb," he said. He didn't even know what a micro-fusion bomb was. He heard about it in Star Trek. It was supposed to be very powerful.

"Impossible, micro-fusion technology is years away," the doctor replied.

"As far as _you_ know, it is," he replied trying to entice the doctor to ask more questions.

The doctor began to write down the information. "My second question is what is your name?"

Just then the door opened and Vanya walked in. The doctor turned to look at who was entering the room, but right as he did it the Russian woman lifted a suppressed MR-444 pistol to his head. "Unlock his restraints right now," she said.

The doctor did as he was told and pulled out a set of keys. He unlocked the chains that fastened Nathan to the chair. Right after he was finished Vanya pulled the trigger. The doctor's body recoiled as the round penetrated his throat. He fell to the floor gasping for air and trying desperately to stop the blood flowing from his neck. After several seconds of struggling he passed away. He died in a frightened panic.

Nathan was overjoyed to see the doctor die, but he kept that to himself. He tried to get out of the chair, but the holes in his thighs made it impossible for him to stand. Vanya left the room briefly and came back with a wheel chair and a back pack. "We need to leave now," she said as she helped him off his chair and into the wheeled one.

Once he was in the chair she reached into her back pack and pulled out a long blue gown and a veil, which was typical of Muslim women to wear. She put the back pack in his lap and put the veil and gown on herself. She then pulled out a set of bandages and began to wrap them around his head so that only one of his eyes was visible. Quickly she began to wheel him out of the door, down the hallway, and finally outside. She reached into the back pack and pulled out a small black stick with a red button on the end, which Nathan immediately assumed was a detonator.

Vanya pushed the red button.

* * *

Krylov stood outside as he examined the condition of his Su-35 while the Russian maintainers worked on it. He had pushed the magnificent machine to its maximum capability and it had performed excellently. The missiles could have used some work, but otherwise everything went as best as it could possibly go. He began to rework the entire battle in his head to see if there was anything he could have done better or if there was any tactic that did not work.

It was a classic Soviet tactic to fire two missiles at one enemy aircraft, one radar guided and one IR-guided. Radar guided missiles emitted radar waves which could be picked up and tracked by an RWR. IR-guided missiles did not. This made the adversary pilot focus on the radar guided missile while the IR-guided one moved in for the kill. The tactic worked perfectly against the F-15Es.

It perplexed him as to where those two missiles came from right when he was closing in on the last Raptor. Once he saw the Super Hornet and Growler on their way back through the canyon he had communicated their position to a ground based Iranian commander, who inturn ordered other fighters on patrol in the area to set up an ambush by going the opposite direction through the canyon to comb it out. He discovered after landing that they had found nothing, which made the elite Russian mercenary believe that the American Navy jets had somehow found the ambush and turned around to go through another route in the mountains. They could have fired at him on their way back.

The Major General approached him from his right.

"You did an excellent job, Krylov," he said. "You killed three of the enemy and their AWACS. That makes you the world's only triple ace now if you add it to your kills in Sudan."

Krylov, however, appeared melancholy. "I still failed to protect the nuclear reactors from being destroyed."

"That does not matter. I just communicated with the Prime Minister and he is more pleased than ever. The U.S. and her allies have just given us the justification we need to start a war with Israel. Even if they come forward with proof of Iranian-made nuclear weapons being smuggled into their countries that won't matter. The Middle East is angry at the U.S. like never before. The President currently has the favor of the United Nations and will be able to turn this to our advantage when it goes to the diplomatic table. The U.N. is weak and weary of all the wars that America has waged. Now that America has picked another fight, they will certainly be ready to yield to our Resolution," replied Maraklov.

"Very well then," replied Krylov.

"It's too bad for the flight of enemy aircraft that escaped. They have probably run out of fuel by now," Maraklov chuckled.

"Why is that?"

"What the U.S. does not know is that the new Kuwaiti President is nothing more than a puppet of our Prime Minister. Our government got him in office the same way it did with presidents of the satellite states in the Cold War. The new Kuwaiti President turned the entire nation of Kuwait against their American allies and now the strike group has nowhere to land. Iraq was offered to join the alliance, but they choose neutrality and will not let any foreign aircraft land on their soil. They have also agreed not to reveal that the alliance exists. It's a good thing they wouldn't accept the Americans landing on their base. If they were recording with a high resolution feed over the nuclear reactors during the attack this morning then those American's might have video camera evidence that would incriminate Russia in the smuggled nuclear weapons incidents."

"How many other countries has our Prime Minister done this to?" asked Krylov.

"Just the countries with American military bases that would not comply with the requests of the alliance when we began preparations three years ago, save for Iraq. Iraq would be much too difficult to manipulate because it is still heavily monitored by the Americans," replied Maraklov.

Just then a loud explosion erupted on the base and one of the buildings vanished in a huge fire ball. Maraklov recognized it as the building that he had sent his daughter to. A look of horror appeared on his face.

"Vanya!"

* * *

Right after Vanya pushed the button Nathan heard a thunderous explosion on the base and saw one of the nearby buildings erupt in bright flames. Once the explosion went off she immediately rushed Nathan in his wheel chair towards one of the hangers.

All the Iranian personnel on the base gave their immediate attention to the blast and began rushing towards it trying to help put the flames out. In all the chaos no one paid attention to her as she made a dash for the nearest hanger. There were a lot people wounded from the explosion of the nuclear reactors that had been wheeled on a transport. Most of the people that saw her pass by merely thought she was one of the nurses moving a patient away from the flames and smoke.

She entered one of the hangers and stopped when she came across four aircraft. Quickly she peeled the bandages off Nathan's head. "I don't know much about planes, which one do you think would be best?"

Nathan immediately recognized each one. Two of them were Su-34 Platypus fighter-bombers, while the other two were An-74 transports.

The An-74 was merely a medium range transport aircraft.

The Su-34 was a heavy fighter-bomber derivative of the Flanker. It featured a massive fuel capacity and a unique side-by-side seating arrangement. The Su-34's in the hanger did not have any weapons on them at the moment, which was good since that would make it carry extra weight. Nathan also knew that the cockpit of the Su-34 was automatically pressurized and no oxygen masks were needed for the pilot and his WSO, which was good since he and Vanya didn't have time to get any.

Nathan pointed to the nearest Platypus and Vanya moved him to it. There was a set of stairs behind the front landing gear that led to the cockpit. Nathan struggled up the stairs since he could barely use his legs. Once he entered the cockpit he crawled into the pilot's seat, which he was certain was the one on the left. Vanya kicked the wheel chair away so that it would not get hit by the landing gear as the plane took off. She climbed into the cockpit as well.

Vanya sat into the seat next to Nathan's. She was expecting Nathan to simply start the plane and go but to her dismay he paused. She looked at him and saw him staring at the controls. "What are you waiting for?"

"You can read Russian right?"

"Da."

"Look for something that says 'Engine' or 'Battery,'" he said as he began searching the controls, which were all labeled in Persian, Arabic, and Russian. He noticed that the stick, throttle, and landing gear were obvious as in most Russian designs, but many of the controls were in some of the most odd places.

"I thought you said you could fly an aircraft," Vanya said as she began frantically reading the Russian labels.

"Planes aren't like cars. You can't just learn how to fly one and know how to fly them all," he replied.

"This one!" Vanya said as she pointed to three switches labeled for each engine and the batteries.

Nathan flipped all of them and the turbines began to hum to life. The lights and HUD flickered on.

Vanya immediately began to strap herself into the seating restraints. Her discomfort with aircraft began to grow deep in her stomach.

Once he felt the engines were warmed up enough Nathan kicked the throttle forward and the large Su-34 began to leave the hanger. The rudder controls, which were petals at Nathan's feet, thankfully controlled the ground movement as well just like they did in American aircraft. Right as Nathan was taxing onto the runway a voice on the radio began yelling at them in Persian. He didn't know what they were saying but he was pretty certain that they were telling him he didn't have clearance to take off.

"Hang on to something," he told the Russian agent and pointed the nose of the aircraft down the runway.

Vanya immediately grabbed onto her seat with an iron grip as Nathan lit the afterburners and the Su-34 shot forward screaming down the runway. Once the Platypus had enough speed, Nathan pulled back on the stick the aircraft lifted off the runway. The pilot lifted up the landing gear once he was clear of the ground.

As they lifted in the air Vanya began to feel as if her heart were sinking into her stomach. She hated flying in airliners, but she was sure that a fighter would drive her insane.

"Check to see if one of these is a fuel gauge. I need to know how much fuel we have," the Air Force pilot shouted to her above the roar of the engines.

Vanya looked down at the instrument panel and began reading the Russian labels again. She suddenly felt very sick, but managed to find the fuel gauge.

"That one!" she said.

Nathan looked at it and saw that it was at 95%. _Perfect_, he thought. Luckily on the HUD it had a 360 degree compass that was also similar to how the U.S. made it's own HUD navigation indicators. He wasn't sure what the Russian words for "North," "East," "South," and "West" were, but he did recognize the numbers. He was heading east toward inland Iran.

The American pilot kicked in the rudder and initiated a hard right bank till he was going westward and heading toward the coastline of Iran. During the bank his Russian passenger felt extremely dizzy. Vania's stomach seemed to be fighting the dinner that she had eaten the previous night. The motion of the aircraft tilting, then shifting in an entirely different direction made her feel terrible.

Nathan left the afterburner on full. The Su-34's speed gradually increased until it went supersonic and he finally made it over the coast at only 500 feet. Once he was Feet Wet he began to climb to reach a higher and more fuel efficient altitude. His goal was 30,000 feet. Vanya could feel her heart sink further as the surface of the earth suddenly seemed so far away, but simultanously her heart was leaping with joy since her old life was just as far behind her.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0645 hours, 6:45 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: 28,000 feet over the An Najaf province in Southern Iraq**

The sun was now clearly above the horizon and rising steadily. The sky was clear of clouds and all that could be seen for miles in every direction was barren, wasted, lifeless desert. The allied strike group headed through Iraqi airspace. They knew that they needed to make their way over the Karbala and Al Anbar provinces before they crossed into Jordan.

Jordan had relatively good relations with the U.S. and Britain so the group was confident that the Jordanians would let them pass. The Israelis on the other hand were on their guard far more here than they had been during their strike into Iran. Only a few miles north of their flight path in Jordan was Syria, which shared a well known hatred of Israel and vice versa.

Just then, Pat received a glitch in her satellite communications feed. The system suddenly went down. She began to try to revive it several times, but it didn't work. The system automatically began to reboot. Once it came back online she went on to continue navigating and thought nothing of the strange glitch.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0700 hours, 7:00 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: Iran, Sixth Tactical Air Base North of the port city of Bushehr**

Major General Maraklov sat down at a table with his head in his hands. He felt devastated. His prisoner escaped and his daughter died. He was certain that his government would have his head for letting the prisoner escape, but that was nothing compared to the loss of his most precious person in his life. The misery began to fill him until a member of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard approached him.

"Sir, I don't think your daughter is dead," he said.

Maraklov stood on his feet and looked the man in the eye. "What reason do you have?"

"We cleared the wreckage and were unable to find your daughter's body. Although it is possible that it was completely incinerated in the blast, it is highly unlikely that there would be no remains left. The building was detonated from an explosive planted inside of it. There is also evidence that shows she had left the building beforehand. There is no way that the American pilot could have escaped without some sort of help and it is possible that she provided such assistance."

"I won't believe it until I see proof!" he retorted back.

"As you wish. Follow me," the Iranian replied and turned towards a military bunker with several monitors arrayed in columns. An Iranian intelligence officer was using them to go though several security feeds. Once he saw the Russian general coming he immediately paused all the feeds. The Revolutionary Guard member said something to the officer in Persian and the man began to play a single feed of a camera that displayed Vanya entering a room with a wheel chair and backpack in hand. Seconds later she was seen again coming out of the room wheeling the prisoner away in the chair and obviously dressed in a veil and cloak.

Maraklov was stunned. His daughter had shown nothing but pride for her country since she began her service career. He scolded himself at the same time, because he knew that she was having difficult issues in her life and deliberately chose to be addicted to his work.

Krylov approached the table just in time to watch the video. "My Zhuravlik has been refueled and rearmed if you want me to pursue them," he said.

Maraklov took the suggestion under consideration. One of the on base radar stations currently tracked the Su-34 several miles off Iran's coast and heading toward Kuwait. The Su-34 didn't have a satellite tracking device, which meant that if they did not get another asset to track the aircraft soon then it would quickly disappear. Maraklov would have used Iranian aircraft that were on patrol, but all six of them had been shot down by the Americans. The Su-34 had enough fuel to make it anywhere in the Middle East and by then finding her would be difficult.

It wasn't just the fact that she was his daughter that brought the Major General to worry. It was also the fact that his daughter had too much sensitive knowledge of all the current operations that Russia was conducting. Her position in the SVR gave her access to some of Russia's most top secret information and if she were to turn that information over to the Americans or their allies it could put Russia's operations in serious danger. U.N. Resolution 2441 was to be voted on today and he could not imagine what horrible setbacks could result from his daughter sharing such information before the vote.

There were only two options available: capture her or kill her, the first being preferable while the later being easier and quicker to accomplish. "Follow them, Krylov, but contact me when you are in firing range. Do not shoot on sight," he said. Krylov quickly disappeared in the direction of his Su-35.

The Major General quickly walked away from his bunker and into his own barracks. He pulled out his laptop and entered his top secret password for access into the GLONASS satellite system. Just as he had ordered a few minutes ago a Russian government hacker had accessed the GPS satellites and gained the position of the joint enemy strike group that had hit Iran earlier. He wanted to make sure that they had run out of fuel , but to his surprise he found them still flying and making their way over Iraq's Al Anbar province to head into Jordan. That could not happen. They must have found a tanker to hook up with and provide them with more fuel. He had to find a way to kill them quickly.

He immediately accessed his secure email and began typing a message to the commanding officer of the closest Syrian Air Force base.

* * *

**Red Crown: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review if you want me to update.**


	12. Got Wingman?

**Red Crown: Very sorry for the long time it took me to update. I have a lot of work to do. Hope this chapter will make it up to you.  
**

_"We will bury you."_ -Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev, Soviet Premier, addressing Western ambassadors November 18, 1956.

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE: _**"Got Wingman?"**_

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0730 hours, 7:30 A.M. (Iranian Standard Time)**

**Location: 30,000 feet over the Persian Gulf**

The Su-34 handled smoothly thanks to its fly-by-wire gear. At 30,000 feet the Su-34 had a very fuel efficient cruise speed. The fact that the sun was rising steadily allowed for improved visibility. The waters below him could clearly be seen and the few clouds that scattered the area were easily distinguishable.

"Where are you going?" asked Vanya as she spoke through the headset that she had discovered under her chair.

Nathan, who had also found a headset under his chair, looked over across the cockpit to her and saw that she had settled down somewhat now that the plane was in a smooth flight path. "Kuwait. I took off from an air strip there and I'm sure that the rest of my guys have landed back there already."

"You can't land in Kuwait. They won't let you now," she said.

Nathan looked at her with disbelief. "And why is that?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Vanya took a deep breath. She was still unsure if she wanted to give away information about the secret alliances. Her plan was merely to escape her country, not betray it. "Listen, you just can't land in Kuwait. Are there any alternative air strips you can land at?"

"Sure, there's one in Bahrain."

"You can't land there either."

"What about the ones in Iraq?"

"Not them either."

"Well, I can't land anywhere else unless I have some answers. So until you tell me something I'm heading to Kuwait," replied Nathan.

Vanya began to get irritated and worried. If he did head towards Kuwait, then they would either be redirected elsewhere or shot down. An even worse thought was the possibility that her father had already got in contact with the Kuwaiti authorities and told them to allow Nathan to land so that they could apprehend her on site.

"Okay, I'll tell you!" she stammered. "Kuwait and Bahrain are working with Russia in a secret alliance that will soon take control of the entire Middle East. Iraq is not part of the alliance, but will remain neutral and not reveal that the alliance exists."

Nathan looked at her with a blank stare.

"You've got to believe me," she said pleadingly.

In Nathan's mind, that actually was not hard to believe. He had already seen some pretty strange things happen earlier this morning.

"If I believe you, then where would I want to land?"

"I think that you're best option is Israel."

"Alright. Then we're going to Israel," he said before altering his course from the Gulf of Kuwait to the Gulf of Iraq, where he knew he could cross into Jordan, then Israel.

* * *

Krylov used his infra-red sensor to maintain his lock on the Su-34. If he used the radar it would set off the RWR on the Platypus. He decided that it would be better to sneak up behind them and get into close range where his Su-35BM could better employ its weapons. He was currently 25 miles behind them and closing the distance.

Ordinarily, when Russian maintainers fueled up their Flankers for a combat mission, they would fill it to roughly half way full. A half way full tank on a Flanker was more than enough to conduct a wide variety of combat operations since the tank had a ridiculously large capacity. However, Krylov had been given a near full load of fuel before he took off since Maraklov didn't know how long his pursuit of the Su-34 would last.

Krylov was now armed with three R-74MEs and one R-73R, two R-77Ts, four R-77Ms, and one centerline mounted KS-172 long range active radar guided air-to-air missile.

The Novator-built KS-172 had a maximum range of 216 miles. It was designed to kill high-value low-maneuverable aircraft such as cargo, tankers, and AWACs aircraft. The KS-172 was to a fighter pilot what a sniper rifle was to a soldier. It gave him the ability to reach out and touch someone.

Krylov had heard about the situation that was about to unfold above the border of Iraq and Jordan. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world the Syrian Air Force had sent several of its pilots to Russia under the guise of a two year training program for new MiG-29s and MiG-31s. The training in actuality lasted three years and included the new Russian air ambush dogfighting tactics that he knew were specifically tailored to eliminate unsuspecting western fighter groups. He was eager to see how the new Russian doctrine would stand the test of true combat.

Not only were they going to have the benefit of the training, but also they would have help from some of Kylov's colleges. There were also Russian mercenary pilots mixed in with the Syrian Air Force and although they might not have the raw experience and natural talent Krylov had, they were still highly trained and highly skilled.

Since the Su-34 was now coming within firing range of his Archer missiles he decided that now would be a good time to contact Maraklov.

"This is Phoenix Zero to Base Six, I am in firing range of the target," he said over his radio.

"This is Base Six, I want you to order them to land and threaten to shoot them down if they refuse. Threaten only. Is that clear," came the reply.

"Affirmative."

Krylov switched his second radio to an open channel.

* * *

Nathan and Vanya were both startled when the radio became alive with someone else's voice.

"This is Phoenix Zero of the Revolutionary Guard Air Force to the American pilot, you are to land in Kuwait immediately. If you refuse I will shoot you down," came the voice of a man with an obvious Russian accent.

The American looked at his passenger with a quizzical expression. Now he had no intention of landing in Kuwait whatsoever.

He didn't know what to do or how to reply. After a long pause the enemy got impatient. "I've already shot you down once this morning. Don't make me do it twice, American."

Nathan began brainstorming of what to do. There was no hope of trying to talk his way out of this. Maybe if he told the Russian that he was going to land in Kuwait the mercenary would leave him alone.

"Roger that, Pheonix Zero. Vectoring to Kuwait now," he replied over the radio.

Vanya looked at him horrified. "What are you doing?"

Quickly he lifted a hand to cover his microphone so the enemy wouldn't hear what he was about to say. "I'm not actually going to do it. I'm just buying time. We need to find a way to lose him and fast."

Just then the Russian pilot replied back. "Very well, American. I will provide escort from your six o'clock."

_Crap_, thought Nathan.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0715 hours, 7:15 A.M. (Jordanian Time Line)**

**Location: 28,000 feet over western Iraq**

The strike group headed westward and was only a few miles away from the Jordanian border. They had already requested permission to pass through Jordanian airspace and received clearance.

The bright sun was already at a high angle from the horizon as it usually was during the summer mornings. The sky was packed with clouds and the layers of clouds were broken in some places that allowed the aviators to see pass them and towards the ground. It was difficult to navigate without radar.

The Israeli AWACS provided radar coverage and guidance. There was no sense in having all the aircraft keep their radars on if it only took one to do the job. During their travel over Iraq the allied group had all set their radios to the same ultra high frequency channel to better communicate. The Americans had learned that the Israeli F-16I's callsigns were Stone 30, Stone 31, Stone 32, and Stone 33. Stone 30 was the leader. The British Typhoons were going by the callsign Biscuit 79 through Biscuit 82, with Biscuit 79 being the leader. Biscuit 79 was also the one marked with bullet wounds.

The AWACS went by _Owl Eye _and the Tanker was called _Pepsi_.

"This is Owl Eye to Stone Three-zero, I have several inbound radar contacts coming from the north-west, bearing one-seven-zero, range three-zero miles, angle one-five and climbing, speed five-five-zero knots plus. It looks like they're moving to intercept," said the AWACS operator.

"This is Stone Three-zero to Owl Eye, confirm IFF squawk?"

"Owl Eye to Stone Three-zero, IFF is negative."

_Holy crap, _thought Tony. At 550 knots he knew that these contacts had to be fighter aircraft. He knew that the Syrians were allied with Iran and hated the U.S. and her allies, but would they really penetrate Jordanian airspace to pick a fight with them? Why would they? How did they even know that they were passing through Jordan? He wasn't sure, but he decided to prepare for a fight anyway.

He pushed the jettison button and his remaining Maverick missile as well as his empty weapons racks dropped from his aircraft. His wings were now clean and much lighter. He couldn't drop the centerline fuel tank since the IRST sensor was built into it, but the tank was empty and didn't contribute much weight. His remaining armament consisted of one Sidewinder missile and 509 rounds of 20mm ammunition.

The Israelis took it seriously. "Stone Three-zero to flight, weapons hot." All the Israeli warplanes armed their weapons. They ordered the AWACS and the Tanker to turn left and move south so as to put some distance between them and any fight that should break out. Bulldog volunteered to position his EA-18G between the high value aircraft and the proposed area a fight might take place. He knew he was completely defensive since he had no missiles left to attack with, but his jammers were useful for confusing any missiles that were fired at the high value assets. With that done the whole formation of ten warplanes turned towards the bogey aircraft in line abreast formation in order to meet them.

"This is Biscuit Eight-zero, hold on a second. I doubt that the Syrians would be dumb enough to fly into Jordan's airspace and pick a fight with us," said one of the British pilots.

"This is Stone Three-zero, what are you smoking in that cockpit? They have more than enough intent," replied the Israeli leader.

"This is Biscuit Eight-zero, I don't want to risk causing an international incident that could evolve into a war. What if you're wrong and they're not attacking us? Why would they want to attack us? We need more information," replied to British pilot.

"This is Owl Eye to Biscuit Flight, I have just received contact from British, Israeli, and American high command. They know about our situation and your orders are to not fire unless fired upon," said the Israeli officer.

_Not fire unless fired upon... Not fire unless fired upon... Not fire unless fired upon..._

For Scorch, his mind began hurting right after he heard those words. It was as if a dam had burst. He was brought back to that place over the Taiwan Straight where that fateful incident happened. He could hear the voice of his wingman. _Scorch!_

Something in him snapped and he immediately armed his weapons. "Screw that," he said and broke formation in full afterburner toward the incoming contacts.

"This is Biscuit Eight-one, What the bloody hell?" shouted another one of the British pilots. "Is he insane?"

Scorch checked his weapons. He had 5 AMRAAMs and 2 Sidewinders. He set his radar to air combat mode and selected all his AMRAAMs. His radar showed that there were four contacts at 20 miles away and there were at least twenty more contacts behind them at 28 miles away.

He locked onto the closest four simultaneously. "Shadow Two-five engaging, Fox-three! Fox-three!" he called out and fired. The under bay doors on his Raptor snapped open and unleashed all four missiles, which ignited their engines and sped toward their individual targets.

Suddenly the British flight's RWRs went off.

Just as Scorch's AMRAAMs began to disappear into the horizon two missiles streaked in from the direction of the contacts. For all of the allied pilots things seemed to slow down as if they were moving underwater when the missiles came into view.

Pat reacted near instantaneously taking control of the jammers and pointing them toward the missiles to confuse them. It worked on the first missile, which happened to be an R-77M, and the weapon darted through the formation dumbfounded by the jamming. However, the second missile, an R-77T, was not fooled and slammed right into the side of Biscuit 80's Typhoon. The exploding-rod warhead unleashed itself upon the body of the British airplane and sliced through the right wing, tail, and fuselage. The EF-2000 was ripped into four parts and fell out of formation in flames. The pilot ejected.

"They're already shooting at us!" shouted Biscuit 81.

"This is Owl Eye to Command, we have been engaged!" shouted the Israeli operator to his base.

Just then the Israeli flight's RWRs went off. Each Israeli picked an enemy target on their radar and fired their Derby active radar guided missiles at it. As soon as they had fired their missiles they each broke away into erratic maneuvers and ejected chaff and flare to dodge the incoming missiles that had been fired at them.

The British pilots followed suit and began locking onto and firing Meteor missiles at the large mass of radar contacts that was heading toward them.

Scorch watched as his missiles struck the targets on the radar. He advanced in full afterburner on the place where his missiles hit and lowered his altitude to confirm his kills. After a few moments the flaming wreckage could be seen and it was not what he had expected. The wreckage looked too small to be even that of a fighter, but he could not distinguish what it had been.

He shut off his radar and effectively put his Raptor in stealth mode. With the afterburner still on full he broke the sound barrier and advanced through the clouds toward the place of the other radar contacts.

Right after he passed through a major cloud blockage he saw a large formation of aircraft too small to be fighters. As he advanced closer he recognized them as unmanned drones. Very shortly after they came into view each one was struck by an active radar guided missile that had been fired from the allied flight.

"This is Owl Eye, I confirm splashes. Good kills flight."

"This is Shadow Two-five, that's a negative, Owl Eye! We didn't kill anything. They were all unmanned drones," Scorch called out over the radio before turning off his afterburner.

This caused a wave of dread to go throughout the allied fighter pilot's minds. They had just practically thrown away all their radar guided missiles, which were the best option for killing enemy aircraft.

The wreckage of the destroyed drones left a large cluster on the radar that could be hiding any enemy aircraft.

Just then Scorch looked up and saw a flight of four massive fighters. They were even bigger than his Raptor was. They had a long dart-like fuselage with sleek swept back wings and large slightly canted tail fins. Two monstrously huge turbines propelled them through the sky and it was this feature that made them recognizable as MiG-31 Foxhounds. The MiG-31s had a light blue and dark blue camo scheme and two of them were in the process of launching AA-9 Amos long range missiles.

Scorch began to wonder who they were firing at, but his curiosity was answered in seconds.

"This is Owl Eye, I'm spiked! Taking evasive maneuvers!"

"This is Smoke One-zero, I have the enemy missiles on passive radar. Jamming now!" said Pat as she blasted the missiles with jamming waves.

"This is Shadow Two-five, I have a visual on four Foxhounds at angel two-zero and heading for an intercept, I'm engaging them now," Scorch called out and pulled into a climb with full afterburner while selecting one of his Sidewinder missiles. Those Foxhounds had to go if the AWACS was to survive.

The Israelis had dodged the missiles fired at them and recovered in formation with the British pilots and Tony.

Tony flipped on his IRST to see if it could find anything, but the thick clouds made the infra-red imaging sensor confused and he shut it off.

"This is Owl Eye, I have twenty plus bandits coming out of the radar cluster at mach 1 and only five miles in front of you. Can you see them?"

The clouds were thick and allowed for only three miles of visibility from their current spot. This was not good.

Suddenly four flights of five enemy fighters burst through the clouds in front of them. The bandits shot over their heads in the merge. The allied flight instantly recognized that their silhouettes were those of MiG-29 Fulcrums.

"Bandits! Bandits! Bandits!" shouted Biscuit 79.

All four Israelis dived with ten of the bandits beneath a layer of cloud cover.

The three British pilots pulled into a climb and attacked a flight of five MiGs.

Radio chatter of missile shots and maneuvers filled the ultra high frequency channel.

Tony banked right and selected his Sidewinder as one of the flights of MiGs turned towards him. He could see more detail on the aircraft. The MiG-29's bore the black, white, and red roundels of the Syrian Air Force. They were all painted in a camo scheme that consisted of dark brown, light brown, and dark green.

It was at this moment that Tony realized he was missing something crucial to success in a dogfight: a wingman. Bulldog was unarmed and could not fight, while Scorch had raced ahead to attack the Foxhounds and left the naval aviator on his own. The allies were busy covering each other's backs and hadn't even given it thought.

He was going to attack five MiG-29s alone. He could only sum up his thoughts into two words. _"Uh oh."_

He and the MiGs overshot each other. The U.S. Navy pilot reversed his turn and pulled his Super Hornet into a nose low bank into the MiGs. Three of the MiGs increased their thrust and went into a climb. The other two went into a nose low turn against him, which started a flat scissors between him and the two MiGs. A flat scissors meant that he and the MiGs would keep turning into each other and keep overshooting in two zig-zag-like crossing paths. Just like in a rolling scissors, the goal was for one of them to fly slower than the other and slide behind for the advantage.

"Smoke One-one, I could use a little help here!" he said over the radio.

Tony used his JHMCS to slew the AIM-9X seeker upwards at one of the MiGs in the climb. He acquired a lock on one and fired.

"Fox Two!"

His Sidewinder streaked off his wingtip and climbed after the MiG. The Fulcrum ejected countermeasures and nosed over in a hard turn. The AIM-9X slammed into the Fulcrum's fuselage and detonated. The explosion lit the MiG-29 on fire. The blast tore the left wing and both vertical stabilizers off. The MiG-29 began trailing smoke and went into a downward spiral. It disappeared beneath the clouds, the pilot's status unknown.

"Splash one!" Tony called out. At that exact moment he realized that he had achieved a fifth kill and had become an ace. Also at that exact moment came the realization that he might not live to tell about it since he was out of missiles.

The two MiG-29s that were turning against him overshot him again. Tony reversed his bank and turned into them again. This time one of the MiGs reversed his turn into him while the other pulled away in a right bank. The American fighter pilot glanced up and discovered that the climbing Fulcrums had disappeared from his sight.

The MiG-29 that was turning into him must have thought that he was going to continue the flat scissors with him. Tony made sure not to make that mistake. The MiG that had pulled away was a much easier target.

The American pulled after the MiG and maneuvered behind him while the MiG that was trying to turn with him overshot him. The naval aviator selected his gun and set his radar to GACQ mode. He recieved a lock on the Fulcrum and a pipper showed up several feet behind the target.

Right then the MiG that had been trying to turn with him reversed his turn and maneuvered behind him. Tony's RWR flared with a tone that indicated he had been locked onto by the Russian-made aircraft on his six o'clock.

The F/A-18E pilot now had one MiG behind him and another infront of him. He tried to pull his nose in front of the MiG for a gun shot, but the MiG began pulling hard as well to keep out of the American gunsight. Tony had hoped that he could kill the MiG in front of him before the one behind him could fire. His hopes began to dwindle as he looked in his rear-view mirror to find that the Syrian pilot was now lining up for a perfect missile shot.

The American began releasing flares to try and mess up any attempt the Syrian behind him was making at getting a missile lock.

Just then a missile slammed into the MiG-29 on his rear. The back of the Russian-made jet burst in an explosion. Right as the Syrian aircraft went down in flames he saw a Typhoon fly into his rear-view mirror and begin to cover his six o'clock. The British pilot must have realized that he was left alone and came to help.

An English woman's voice came over the radio. "Listen, the only way that you and me are going to survive this is if we work together. Do you recognize my voice, Smoke One-one?"

"Yes." It was good that she was a woman since her voice could easily be distinguished above all the other radio chatter. This way he could communicate in simple terms with her.

"Then there's no need to be formal. You just focus on that MiG. I got your six," she said. "Going vertical," the British pilot called out before pulling into a climb. Right as she pulled into a climb one of the other Syrian Fulcrums jumped on her six o'clock.

Tony focused on the MiG ahead of him. He and the Syrian pilot were both bleeding speed rapidly from the turn. The MiG-29 dominated in a high speed turn where as the slow speed arena was the F/A-18E's specialty. The Super Hornet slowly began to gain the advantage as it pulled its nose in front of the MiG. Once the boresight reached the target he pulled the trigger.

"Guns, Guns, Guns!" he called out.

The Vulcan cannon roared. A spray of high explosive 20mm rounds sliced through the sky and struck the MiG-29's body, shredding it into several pieces. The fuel tank was hit and the resulting explosion ripped the entire jet apart, consuming the pilot's life in the flames. Debris from the explosion spread out in all directions. Without time to turn away Tony flew right into some of the MiG's debris. Metal pieces showered his jet, but thankfully didn't cause any severe damage.

"Splash two!"

Right at that moment he looked above him to see that the MiG-29 behind his new wingman had fired an R-73 heat seeking missile at her.

"I'm spiked!" she shouted.

The Typhoon pilot immediately rolled inverted and pulled into a dive while launching chaff and flare. The missile barely missed her and shot away into the horizon. The MiG-29 aggressively followed the British EF-2000 in the dive and positioned for a gun shot. The dive took them both below Tony's altitude.

"Hang tight! I'm on him!" the naval aviator said.

The American aviator rolled over into a dive of his own, sliding right behind the Fulcrum. The Fulcrum was only half a mile away and firing green tracer rounds at his British wingman. He received a lock on the enemy and began positioning for a gunshot.

Suddenly green tracer rounds raced by his side as well. The Super Hornet pilot checked his six and saw that another Fulcrum had followed him into the dive and was firing at him. The line of deadly 30mm tracers was slowly inching its way toward him.

His British wingman pulled out of the dive and into a hard right bank. The blood thirsty MiG-29 on her six followed close behind.

At that moment Tony pulled a move that was highly unexpected by the enemy. He hit the airbrake and yanked back on the stick, draining the speed that he had gained from the dive. The move got him away from the green tracers and allowed him to pull into a high angle of attack, where his nose was pointed above the direction his aircraft was moving in the air. He banked right and kicked in the rudder to slew his gunsight over into the MiG's flight path. The American unleashed his Vulcan cannon.

"Guns!" he called out.

Bright tracer rounds darted through the sky and sank into the Fulcrum's frame. The high explosive rounds ate up the hull of the Syrian jet with hot shrapnel. Both wings separated from the fuselage and both engines caught fire. The pilot ejected from the wreck. Both man and machine were swallowed by the mass of clouds below.

"Splash three!"

The female English pilot lit her afterburners and climbed. The idea was obvious to Tony that she was going to climb before coming down on the remaining MiG in a slicing attack to hopefully make the kill before Tony was taken out.

Tony took off the airbrake, eased his turn, and lit the afterburners to recover speed. The MiG-29 behind him had adjusted his speed accordingly to maintain his position behind the American fighter.

Just then the British pilot's RWR became alive with a missile lock warning. The same MiG-29 that was behind Tony had used his helmet mounted sights to fire an R-73 at her.

She released chaff and flare and performed a sharp barrel roll that caused the missile to shoot above her and narrowly miss.

The MiG-29 spewed 30mm rounds at his American prey. Green tracers diced the air only a few feet over Tony, which let him know that the MiG was already pulling lead on him.

The Super Hornet pilot grabbed a boot-full of right rudder and snap-rolled underneath so that he was now banking the opposite direction with his nose low, an excellent defensive move. The MiG-29 ferociously followed him in the move.

Tony kept his nose low and dared not pull up into the MiG-29's performance envelope. He kept losing altitude until he and the MiG-29 fell beneath the clouds. Both pilots were blinded by white vapor.

"Smoke One-one, where are you?" came his wingman's voice over the radio.

"I'm down in the clouds. The MiG is still on my six! I can't shake him!"

At that moment Tony cut the afterburners and hit the airbrake again in hopes that his adversary would fly over him in the thick fog of the cloud.

The American cleared the clouds expecting to see the Fulcrum in front of him. To his surprise the Fulcrum was less than a quarter of a mile off to his left, airbrake deployed as well.

Tony realized that something was different about this MiG pilot. He knew his weapons systems well and was flying the Fulcrum exceptionally good for a pilot of the Syrian Air Force.

Both he and the MiG retracted airbrakes and made aggressive sharp banks into each other at nearly the same speed. The maneuvers instantly put them both in a flat scissors. As he and the MiG overshot Tony got a glance at the pilot and saw that his visor was lifted up. He had pale white skin and blond eyebrows. The Fulcrum pilot's piercing blue eyes were viciously locked with those of the Super Hornet pilot.

_A white, blond-haired, blue-eyed Syrian Air Force pilot?_

Tony again reversed his turn into the MiG. His opponent followed suit. They overshot again. The American pulled back gently on the throttle and reversed his bank again. The MiG pilot competitively did the same. Both aviators overshot each other again.

The U.S. Navy pilot throttle backed more and again reversed his turn. He looked back at the Fulcrum and saw that it was slightly jutting out in front of him. He was slowly gaining the advantage as his Super Hornet faithfully dominated the slow speed turns. They overshot again.

Suddenly the enemy pilot rolled wings level, kicked in full afterburner, and went into a steep climb.

The move took Tony by surprise. He rolled wings level, kicked in full afterburner, and yanked back on the stick to follow the MiG. The American aircraft pulled upward, but then started to shutter as it approached a stall. The Super Hornet had bled off too much speed in the scissors and couldn't make the climb. The MiG-29, on the other hand, had a thrust to weight ratio greater than one and could climb from practically any speed. Tony was forced to push down on the stick and put his nose below the horizon to avoid a stall.

The MiG rolled over and slid behind him. In one move the MiG pilot had defeated the scissors and gained the advantage.

Tony was surprised, but his determination to survive this fight was unaffected. Erratically he hit the afterburners, rolled inverted, and pulled into a split-S. His aircraft was now loaded with momentum and going the opposite direction of the MiG. He pulled into a hard right bank into the enemy, but then discovered that the MiG had climbed again when he committed to the split-S and merely grabbed more distance as it turned around to position for a missile shot.

* * *

The blond-haired, blue-eyed MiG-29 pilot selected another R-73 and locked onto his American opponent. He was right behind the Super Hornet and in a perfect place for a missile shot that was sure to kill. "Dasvidaniya," he said as he started to squeeze the trigger. _Good bye_

Just then a barrage of 27mm cannon fire struck his aircraft. The hot shrapnel tore through the cockpit and took the pilot's life instantly. His aircraft fell towards the ground and began to disintegrate in the air on its way.

* * *

Tony looked to see who had saved him and saw the British Eurofighter descend out of the clouds.

"Splash Three," she said.

The Englishwoman lined up in formation with the American. Now that she was close to him he saw on the left side of her fuselage in low visibility paint was a milk carton with a fighter pilot's helmet that had written on the bottom _"Got Wingman?"_

"Thanks," he said. "You're a good shot."

"No problem, Yank. I practice," she replied smartly.

Tony looked over towards the area where the Israelis had disappeared. Three of the F-16Is came out of the cloud victoriously, all weapons expended. The other two Typhoons descended out of the clouds. Bulldog had successfully jammed the missiles fired at the AWACS. Scorch descended from the clouds as well and confirmed that he had hunted down all four of the Foxhounds. There below the clouds they met and examined their losses. Owl Eye had already sent for an Israeli rescue helicopter to pick up Biscuit 80 and the fallen Israeli crew, which Tony learned was Stone 32.

The score was 24 to 2. This morning belonged to the allies.

* * *

**Red Crown: Please let me know if I missed something or if I made any description of the fight too confusing for you to understand. I will go back and try to re-word it. More reviews means a sooner update!**

Dasvidaniya: Formal form of _"Good bye"_ in Russian


	13. Debrief

_"Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival."_ -Winston Churchill

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: _**"Debrief"**_

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0800 hours, 8:00 A.M. (Iran Standard Time)**

**Location: 30,000 feet over the Gulf of Kuwait**

Nathan kept brain storming, but no plausible method of escaping the Russian killing machine on his six o'clock was coming to mind. Time was rapidly running out as he went Feet Dry and ingressed into Kuwaiti air space.

It was then that Nathan began to worry about his fellow pilots that had participated in the strike on the reactors. He had no idea if they had survived the fight with the Russian pilot and had no idea if they had attempted to land in Kuwait or if they were shot down. He was completely clueless of their fate and to say that it bugged him would be an understatement of the greatest degree.

* * *

Krylov continued to watch over the Su-34 like a hawk watching meat.

Maraklov's voice unexpectedly came over the radio. "Base Six to Pheonix Zero, are you in Kuwaiti air space?"

"That's affirmative," he replied.

"The assault on the enemy strike package failed. I need you to reroute. I want you to eliminate their AWACS only. If you find yourself able to destroy any targets of opportunity, then I leave that to your discretion."

Krylov thought the order was strange. He wondered what was so important on board the AWACS that it required termination.

"Pheonix Zero to Base Six, what about the American and your daughter?"

"Base Six to Pheonix Zero, I have ordered two Kuwaiti Hornets to scramble and cover for you. They are on their way right now. You need to hurry and attack the enemy group before they reach the cover of their air defenses in Israel," he said.

Krylov immediately changed course for Iraq and lit the powerful afterburners of his Su-35's engines. With the Novator KS-172's maximum range of 216 miles he knew he could probably fire the missile at the AWACS and make the kill from Iraq. However, the KS-172's maximum performance and best probability for a hit was given from 160 miles away at high altitude and at a supersonic speed. From there the missile would close in on the target at Mach 4.2 and detonate with a powerful 50 kilogram warhead.

This was going to be an assassination mission. He was going to need to leave the afterburners on for one long burst in order to reach the target in time, but he knew he had the fuel for it. He would fly at supersonic speed into Iraq and reach optimum weapons range near Iraq's border with Jordan. From there he could launch the weapon at the AWACS while it was crossing into Israeli air space and achieve a good kill. He considered the possibility of landing in Syria since he wouldn't have the fuel to make it back to Iran's 6th TAB.

As he was leaving he decided to warn the escapee's what would happen if they didn't comply.

* * *

Nathan and Vanya were surprised when the Russian mercenary pilot suddenly flew over them and accelerated at mach speed toward Iraq. They both exchanged a quizzical look with each other.

His voice came over the radio as he was leaving. "You had better land in Kuwait, American. There are two fighters coming towards you to escort you to the landing base. If you do not cooperate, they have orders to shoot you down."

Nathan had no idea how the radar system worked on the Su-34 so he couldn't check and see if the threat was legitimate, but he didn't think that the Russian pilot was the kind of guy to joke around.

"What are you going to do?" Vanya asked as she looked at him.

"Screw them! I'm exploiting this moment of opportunity as best as I can," he said and banked left.

Nathan knew that if he was shot down he and Vanya would die since neither of them had parachutes. Truth be told Nathan would rather die than be captured again. Vanya felt the same way.

Two quick ways to Israel existed from where he was at. One was through Iraq and Jordan. The other was through Saudi Arabia, which also shared a border with Jordan. There was no way he was going to follow the Russian fighter pilot into Iraq and risk meeting him again so Saudi Arabia was a better option.

He reached down into the side of his seat and found the desired charts and maps that were required for navigation without GPS. He lit the afterburners and darted for Saudi Arabian air space. If he reached Saudi air space he hoped that the Hornets wouldn't follow.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 0735 hours, 7:35 A.M. (Jordanian Time Line)**

**Location: 15,000 feet over Jordan**

The group was closing in on the Jordanian-Israeli border and had already started their descent.

"This is Owl Eye, I'm spiked! I'm detecting a bandit one-eight-six miles east and closing, angle three-zero, speed one-one-nine-zero knots plus," the radar operator said and observed on his radar that an unknown bandit had acquired a missile lock on him and was preparing to fire.

The other allied fighter pilots felt useless. They had expended all their long range ammunition so there was literally nothing they could do to attack the bandit.

"I've detected launch. I repeat I'm painted. Taking evasive maneuvers," he called out on the radio.

"This is Smoke One-zero, I have the missile, jamming now," Bulldog called out as he pulled high and allowed Pat space to use the jammers.

She blasted the missile with jamming waves, but it didn't seem to be working. The missile kept moving at an incredible speed. It closed the distance to 49 miles and it was then that Pat came to a shocking discovery.

"This is Smoke One-zero, the missile is shielded!"

The missile cruised in at over four times the speed of sound, eating up miles of distance quickly. The AWACS turned off its radar and began ejecting a shower of chaff and flare. The pilot went into a right turn, but the turn was slow.

All the fighter pilots watched as the missile thrust itself into the fuselage of the helpless AWACS. The 50 kilogram warhead discharged and ripped the entire AWACS apart in mid-flight. Flames and blast force silenced the entire crew.

* * *

Nathan progressed through the Saudi Arabian border with Kuwait.

Saudi Arabia today was not the same one it had been in the past few years. There was a lot of suspicion of foul play in the Saudi Kingdom. Radical Islamists were in surprisingly high places and had plenty of control to do as they pleased. Several assassinations of key figures had occurred. There wasn't any clarity as to what side Saudi Arabia was really on. The leadership had shifted into being a complete and total mystery.

"Are the Saudis in on the alliance too?" Nathan asked his passenger.

"Yes."

"Crap." Now he would need to determine how to get passed the Saudi Arabian defenses.

Nathan was sure they were monitoring the coast and there was no way he planned on heading over water again. He didn't even know if the Saudi's were aware of their presence. Hopefully his aircraft's IFF was still working.

Just then he looked over to his right and saw an aircraft about 10 miles away, slightly below his altitude. It must have been huge since he could see its profile from such a distance. He immediately turned toward the aircraft and began to close the distance with it.

Several moments passed and he was able to recognize the aircraft as an An-124 Ruslan (NATO codenamed: Condor). The An-124 was a heavy long range transport aircraft. It was built by Russia and used by the Ukrainian and Russian armed forces. With a wingspan of 240 feet and a 226 foot fuselage the An-124's size rivaled that of a Boeing 747. This one was painted in white and grey with the Russian flag on its tail. He had no idea what it was doing this far from home, but it was heading west, which was the right direction. It also gave off a radar signature that was larger than his Su-34 and it was most likely communicating with all the nearby Saudi Arabian radar stations for clearance.

An idea began to form in his head.

"What are you thinking, American?" asked Vanya.

"I hope you don't have claustrophobia in the air. My name's Nathan by the way," he replied before going nose low and headed towards the large jet.

"In case you are wondering, I wasn't lying to you when I told you my name is Vanya Maraklova."

He maneuvered the Su-34 to a position about 5 miles off from the Russian cargo plane's six o'clock. The Condor had no windows for rear vision and he didn't want them to have the slightest clue that he was coming. Quickly he gave a short burst of afterburner and raced towards the Condor. The distance between him and the Russian cargo jet drastically decreased. At about half a mile away he slammed on the airbrake and let the Platypus bleed off speed as it approached the rear of the An-124.

Vanya gripped her seat with an iron force. The distance was diminishing so fast that she feared that the American airman was going to ram into the transport aircraft. Amazingly he came within two yards of the Condor before his Su-34 stopped advancing on it. They were so close to the An-124 that Vanya could read the Russian warning labels near the rearward hatch and could distinguish bolts and nuts in the frame of the jet's body. Nathan retracted the airbrake and slowly moved his aircraft two yards underneath the cargo plane. He adjusted to the movements of the cargo aircraft and maintained his course.

"What good does this do us?" asked Vanya obviously not happy about being left out of the loop.

"When a Saudi radar looks in this direction, they'll see only him," he replied and pointed up to the cargo jet. "His radar signature is big enough to conceal us. Whatever paperwork needed for the passage of planes through this air space is held by him and he's heading in the right direction anyway."

"Hmm, Clever. But this aircraft is moving slow. Doesn't that mean it will take us longer to reach Israel?"

Nathan looked at the speed indicator, but saw that it was measured in kilometers per hour rather than knots. He was used to calculating his arrival time in knots. His best guess was that the An-124 was moving at a speed of 300 knots, not too fast. It might take a while.

"It's better than trying to dodge all their air defenses on our own," he replied. "By the way, I've been wanting to ask you, what made you want to take your job in the first place?"

Vanya looked at the American aviator and something in his eyes made her feel that she could be honest with him. "I wanted to impress my father," she answered while twirling a lock of her hair.

"Did it work?" he asked.

The expression on her face grew sad. "No, not all. At least not in the way I wanted it to."

* * *

The allied flight finally made their way into Israeli air space. The Israeli's directed them to an air strip and one by one the warplanes landed.

Tony didn't realize the toll that pulling all those G's took on his body until he had parked his jet on the tarmac and opened the canopy. Try as he might he literally could not pull himself out of his cockpit. He felt as if all the muscles in his body had turned to jello.

Parked to his right was the bullet marked Eurofighter of Biscuit 79. Across from him on the tarmac was the Israeli lead's F-16I. He looked at both fighter crews and saw that both were in the same predicament, canopies open and unable to get out of the jet on their own.

Tony, along with all the other allied fighter pilots and WSOs that had been in the dogfight, had to be lifted out of their cockpits by the Israeli maintence crew. Once they were lifted out a series of ambulances arrived on the tarmac. The whole group was loaded up by paramedics and the drivers quickly started the brief trek to medical.

They were all dehydrated and in dire need of rest. Everyone of them looked pale and had small rings under their eyes. Tony looked at a glass box on his right and found his reflection. He was far from his normal skin tone.

The ambulances were designed to carry two people. It was then that Tony looked over to the man on his left and saw that it was a British pilot. The man had short smooth black hair, piercing blue-green eyes, a square jaw, and extremely broad shoulders that were visible even with all his flight gear on. The pilot was looking right back at him. "Yank, when I heard your voice over the radio you sounded like a handsome fellow. Guess I was wrong," he smartly remarked, which allowed Tony to instantly recognize his voice as that of the Biscuit 79. He too was pale and had rings under his eyes.

Tony cracked a smile at the remark. "You don't look too perky yourself, Brit," he replied.

They both looked back at the ceiling of the ambulance.

In an effort to keep the conversation going Tony asked, "When are you planning on leaving for England?"

He didn't receive an answer and looked over to find that the British pilot had dozed off seconds ago.

Tony slowly began to feel himself fall into a slumber of his own. The shear exhaustion weighed his eyelids down until he couldn't lift them back up.

* * *

Maraklov slammed his fist against the desk. "What do you mean you lost them?" he shouted at the Kuwaiti F/A-18C drivers that were on the other side of the radio.

"This is Dash One-five to Base-six, We tracked them on the radar going south. They went into Saudi Arabian air space and disappeared. We didn't have clearance to enter their air space so we didn't proceed," came the reply of the Kuwaiti pilot.

"You have clearance to enter now. So turn around and find them! If you don't I'll negotiate with your government to have the heads of your family cut off!"

"Yes, sir!" the Kuwaiti fighter pilot replied before going off the radio.

Maraklov was frustrated. He felt he could only trust forces from his motherland to get anything done.

The Russian general decided to contact the Saudi Arabian Tactical Air Defense Command and warn them that there was a renegade aircraft in their air space. With the Saudis and Kuwaitis both searching he hoped to yield some results.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: Unknown (Tel Aviv Time)**

**Location: Israel**

The American fighter pilot woke up in a soft bed. All his flight gear had been pulled off and he now had only his flight suit on. He sat up in bed and looked down to his right to find all his gear and his boots arrayed in a nice orderly pile down at his feet. Every muscle in his body felt incredibly soar, especially his thighs since he had squeezed the heck out of them to keep the blood in his brain during the dogfight.

"Thank God you're awake. Your snoring was driving me out of my mind," he heard in a rough voice.

After scanning his surroundings Tony guessed that he was in a nice hotel room. To his left was a window with a beautiful view of the beach with the sun being high in the sky. The sky was now cloudless. To his right was another bed with Bulldog sitting on it writing in some sort of booklet. He guessed Bulldog's comment was his way of saying, "I'm glad you're alive and I really care for your safety." Since he had not been in the thick of the dogfight over Jordan he was not nearly as tired as the others, but he was still exhausted from jet lag and the mental strain of combat in general.

Next to him were several bottles of water that were obviously there to counter his dehydration. On a small table between them was a well cooked meal. Tony ate and drank without a word to Bulldog. He took the rest of the time to freshen up and do all the normal human things that didn't seem to cross his mind while he was a part of the jet, like using the bathroom and shower.

The door opened and an Israeli officer in uniform stuck his head in the room.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. The Colonel down stairs wanted me to inform you that he would like you to get on the bus that leads back to the base in the next fifteen minutes. You're going to be debriefed in Israel, then again in your own country. It's out in front," said the Israeli.

"Thank you," Bulldog said and the officer left.

Tony immediately strapped on his boots and headed down stairs. He was told that he was going to be sleeping in the hotel and had no reason to bring his gear. As he was heading down to the bus he saw another group of individuals in flight suits standing right outside. He discovered that they were Pat, Scorch, and two British pilots. One of the British pilots was the wing leader that Tony had been in the ambulance with. He seemed to be discussing something with Scorch while Pat and the other English pilot were having a different conversation of their own.

"You're crazy. If they hadn't fired first, we would all be court marshaled cause of you," said the British leader in a domineering tone to Scorch. Tony then noticed how tall the British leader was. He must have been at least six and a half feet.

"They were moving for an intercept at over five-hundred knots. It's obvious that they were going to attack us. If I hadn't made a preemptive attack, then you would have thought that killing the drones was the end of the fight and we would have lost a lot more men than we did," replied a very direct Scorch.

"You didn't know that and that still doesn't give you the right to disobey a direct order from high command. You put us all on the line when you acted on your own."

Bulldog briefly interrupted in the little dispute. "Hey, both of you, I know this needs to be addressed, but let's save it for after the debriefing and for a more secretive place. We don't even know if the mission has been declassified yet," calmly suggested the white haired pilot.

They both calmed down a little and remained silent.

Behind the two, things were going a lot more smoothly with Pat and the British leader's wingman.

"You love amusement parks and you've never been to England! You know, England has a lot of large amusement parks, including the biggest Farris wheel in the western hemisphere, the London Eye. I think you would enjoy the view it offers," said the British pilot, who had short brown hair and deep brown eyes. He was not tall or short and had a very bulky build. His accent and facial features were heavily Scottish.

"Maybe if I visit, you could take me there," replied Pat who seemed very much interested in what he was saying to her.

Just then the same Israeli officer that had told them where to meet for the bus ride came out of the hotel and politely asked them to board the transport vehicle. As they were boarding Tony saw another pilot scramble out of the hotel and join the group. He knew it must have been the British pilot who had teamed up with him during the fight, but he didn't get a good look at her. He thought of going over to her and thanking her for coming to save him in the nick of time, but decided that it would be best to follow Bulldog's suggestion and wait for the debrief before discussing mission details outside of a secure location.

The bus took them back to the Israeli Air Defense Force base. The base was relatively small. However, it had all the modern equipment that any U.S. Air Force base had. The hangers were filled with F-16I and F-15I aircraft. More hangers housed ordinance and were constructed with fine concrete. They passed by the tarmac that had their respective fighters on it and saw that the Israelis were servicing their jets with fuel and maintenance.

The bus dropped them off at a drab looking building. The whole group exited the vehicle and the Israeli officer directed them to enter the building. As they stepped inside they noticed that the interior was that of a briefing room. It had several chairs all pointing toward the north side of the room. In six of the chairs were the Israeli crew of Stone Flight who had survived the fighting. At the north side were two large TV screens, each with the face of a man in uniform, watching in real time the events in the room. It was then that they identified the men in the screens.

The first was U.S. Air Force General Schwartzkof. He was the Chief of Staff of the Air Force and the highest ranking officer that the Air Force had.

The second was Air Chief Marshal Sir Robert Wellington, the Marshal of the Royal Air Force and highest ranking officer in the Royal Air Force.

Just then the Israeli Air Defense Force Commander in Chief, General Abraham, entered the room.

The pilots knew that this was going to be of serious international importance if they bothered to get the top officers for this debrief. Out of a sign of respect one of the Israeli pilots in the room called attention on deck and the group snapped to attention.

"At ease," the Israeli general said and allowed them to take a seat. "Now what I want is for you to discuss in as much detail as possible, exactly what happened every minute of this mission. Don't leave a single detail out. We have absolutely no idea why all your landing points were denied and you may be able to provide us with answers," he said.

Every pilot and WSO in the room mumbled a curse word or shifted uncomfortably in their seat. This debriefing was going to last hours.

* * *

**Red Crown: I must say that this chapter was fun to write. I hope it was as fun to read as well. Please review and tell me what you think if you want me to update!**


	14. Intel

**Red Crown: Okay, this is the last chapter that I had up when I last posted this story. The next chapter after this one will be a completely new one. Please enjoy!**

_"Generally speaking, the Way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death."_** -**Miyamoto Musashi

* * *

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: _**"Intel"**_

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 1030 hours, 10:30 A.M. (Saudi Arabia Time)**

**Location: 18,000 feet over Saudi Arabia**

The Su-34 Platypus was well hidden from enemy radar most of the trip to the Jordanian border. Nathan looked at his charts and tried to estimate where he was. He thought that he was somewhere less than 20 miles away from the border.

The An-124 had started a descent, which meant that it was coming close to its landing destination.

Just then Vanya began tapping his shoulder. He looked over to her and saw her pointing toward an airstrip on the ground to their left. The Cargo aircraft began to make a turn towards the airstrip. Nathan matched the large aircraft's turn, even though he knew he could probably make it safely to the border if he went into full afterburner. He wanted to wait until the moment when he was closest to the border before he decided to make a run for it.

"What on earth are they doing down there?" said Vanya.

Nathan turned his attention to where she was looking and saw the airstrip. On the airstrip were four other An-124 Condors with Russian flags painted on their tails. They had their front hatches open and Nathan could clearly see a row of tanks, trucks, armored vehicles, and mobile SAM batteries being rolled out. They were quickly being hidden in hangers that seemed as if to hide them from a satellite.

"It looks like they're preparing to wipe somebody out. They're packing a lot of heat," Nathan said. He knew that something was not right about this. He decided that it would be best to tell an intelligence officer about this when he got back to the states, but then remembered that his word was useless if he didn't have any filmed evidence.

He looked at Vanya. "Do you have a camera?"

She turned around and reached into her backpack. Vanya pulled out a RoverPC C7, a Russian brand of cell phone.

"This has video recording as well," she said.

"Good, I need you to record that base while I fly over it,"

Vanya felt even more uncomfortable. She really didn't want to betray Russia, but she couldn't help knowing the fact that her government would kill her if they found her anyway. She activated the video recorder and had it on standby.

"Listen, Nathan," she said to get his attention. The American looked back at her. "If I do this will it help convince your government to give me citizenship?"

"To be honest, I don't know. It might," he replied.

Vanya took a deep breath. She had already come too far. There was no point in looking back. "Very well, I'll do it."

Nathan increased his thrust and headed for the base. He went in an arc along the base while Vanya recorded the image on the ground. Several individuals looked up at them from the base and waved. They probably thought that the Su-34 was still in Russian service.

Once Nathan had gone around the base halfway he broke off and darted for Jordanian air space.

The part of Jordan that was between them and Israel was much smaller than the part of Jordan between Israel and Iraq. They were picked up by Israeli radar in almost no time.

"This is Israel Ground Control to unknown contact ingressing from Jordanian air space, identify yourself," came the voice over the radio.

It took Nathan an incredible amount of time to convince the Israeli Air Defense SAM operator not to blast him out of the sky and let him land, but eventually they relented once he gave them his callsign that he had used during the mission and asked them to confirm it with an American source.

"...I repeat this Dodge Six-two, do you recognize?"

"This is Israel Ground Control to Dodge Six-two, we have contacted American authorities and they confirm your authenticity."

Finally they allowed him to land at an airstrip. Once they directed him towards an Israeli Air Defense Force base he made a landing approach and was overjoyed to see on one of the tarmacs an F/A-18E and an EA-18G. Tony, Bulldog, and Pat were alive!

Once he landed Vanya had to help him exit the Su-34. Nathan's legs were still severely wounded from the doctor's interrogation. An ambulance arrived on the tarmac to take Nathan to medical. Vanya jumped in the ambulance and went along for the ride.

Inevitably Nathan ended up in an emergency room where several doctors were cleaning and sowing up his wounds as well as preparing to use skin grafts to cover the exposed flesh on his arms. At this moment Nathan was glad that the doctor who tortured him had used salt on his wounds the keep them from getting infected.

Vanya stood next to him the whole time. She felt worried about the American. Nathan was very kind to her. She had to keep the main priority the main priority. If he was gone where was she going to get her citizenship?

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 1600 hours, 4:00 P.M. (Tel Aviv Time)**

**Location: Israel**

This debrief had driven them all crazy by the time it was nearing the end. It didn't start right away. Several intelligence officers and combat analysts from the U.S. and the U.K. had flown in advance as soon as they learned that they were landing in Israel. Then there was another delay to allow Tony to get the recorded feed from his F/A-18E's IRST sensor pod. As Tony went to his Super Hornet on the tarmac he saw there were several cuts and scratches in her frame and there was a piece of metal the size of a football jammed into her IRST pod. He assumed that it must have come from flying through the MiG-29's debris during the fight. He lifted a plate on his sensor pod up and it revealed the switches necessary to extract the feed. Once he extracted the feed, which was recorded on a special type of disk in a hard plastic fiber case to keep it from breaking under G's, he noticed that it was damaged. The piece of the MiG had sliced deep into the pod and cut the disk. With hope that it was still readable he went back to the debrief and turned it in to the intelligence officers for them to examine it.

With all the members present the fighter group told their story in the most detailed way possible while they were questioned from nearly every angle about what they saw, what they could perceive, and most notably why they made their decisions. Every move they made was analyzed, criticized, and told of how it could have been done better.

The generals had learned that Tony, Bulldog, and Pat had been over the nuclear reactors the longest so they focused a lot of their questions intensely on them. When Tony told them of the blond-haired, blue-eye MiG-29 pilot they seemed greatly alarmed. The generals and intelligence officers wanted to get down to the bottom of the matter and find out what was going on with the U.S. allies in the Middle East and what had caused them to shut down the American and British air bases. They were also seeking to find something to tell their respective country's leaders. There was no doubt in the fighter pilots minds that the President of the United States and his British and Israeli counter parts were going to be asking these generals for answers.

Tony didn't realize how painful it would be to recall the moment that he had discovered the Flanker with the black insignia had shot down Zander, Baker, Nathan, and Romeo. He felt sick to his stomach and wished that he knew if they had been captured, killed, or were on the run.

At this moment the group learned that a whole squad of U.S. Navy SEALs had been sent in to destroy the wreckage of Zander's F-22 as soon as they left. America's technology was safe from enemy hands. That same squad of SEALs went to the sight where Nathan and Romeo had ejected, but could not find them. They also learned that the Israeli rescue helicopter had successfully extracted Biscuit 80 and Stone 32 from Jordan and was on its way back.

The combat analysts were another matter entirely. They seemed to look solely for mistakes in their decision-making.

The British flight lead, Wing Commander Bishop Anderson, was a particular target for small mistakes he made over Iran. The two that bore the brunt of the criticism were Scorch and Bulldog. Scorch was the first one for his rash preemptive attack on the Syrian radar contacts. If it wasn't for the fact that the Syrians had actually fired the first shot Scorch would have lost his wings. Most of the pilots and WSOs in the room knew that the contacts had hostile intent and were proving it with their speed and intercept course. Every analyst in the room only saw a horrible decision made without enough information.

Bulldog was intensely criticized about his decision to escort Scorch's Raptor to the strike group after the reactors were destroyed. The combat analysts felt that he should have landed on the USS Bush and made sure that Tony and Pat got home safely. In their opinion, he needlessly endangered their lives.

It was then that one of the British pilots addressed the U.S. analyst who had given the criticism.

The voice of an Englishwoman buffered the criticism by saying, "I beg your pardon, sir. Lieutenant Commander Morrison's decision gave us assets that saved us in the fight over Jordan. If he and Lieutenant Ironheart had not jammed the missiles launched at the AWACS and Lieutenant Richardson had not assisted us in the dogfight I am confident that we would have sustained significantly more losses, maybe even lost the fight itself."

Tony turned around to examine who had said such words and saw that it was the same British pilot who had teamed up with him over Jordan. Her skin was white with a slight tan. She had straight collar-length wheat blond hair. Her facial features were that of an elegant Saxon woman. She was slightly on the shorter side of the height scale and had a lean body frame. What stuck out about her most were her vibrant jade-green eyes. They were intensely alive.

"Flight Lieutenant Sophie Noble, isn't it true that the AWACS was shot down after the engagement anyway?" asked one of the U.K. analysts.

Bishop countered the response before she could get to it. "Yes, sir, but if those MiG-31's had finished off the AWACS and jumped into the dogfight we would have been seriously over matched, more so than we _already_ were. Instead, they kept attacking the AWACS, which was excellently defended by Morrison. It kept them preoccupied long enough to keep them out of the fight and for First Lieutenant Coughlin to take them out."

The whole American fighter crew was stunned and grateful to the English pilots for backing them up. The analysts decided to move on to a different point of the mission and immediately began to bring new criticisms to light.

The debriefing continued agonizingly slow. By the time they were dismissed each of the fighter pilots and WSOs was hot with anger.

"That was the longest session of garbage I've ever had to endure in my entire military career," Scorch grumbled as they walked out of the building. "None of those guys has ever been shot at, but they have the nerve to sit down with us face to face and argue that they could have done it better than we did."

Tony felt equally frustrated. He had done everything he could to accomplish the mission and keep friendlies from getting killed, yet four good men that he knew were either dead or at the mercy of an enemy who had no mercy. "Let's not think about it anymore. I'm sure there's a place where we can get some good food around here," he said trying to get his fellow pilots' minds off the debrief.

Someone patted Tony's shoulder and caused him to turn around. He discovered it was the Typhoon pilot that had stood up for them in the debrief.

"I never got a chance to thank you for shooting that MiG off my six when you did. Thanks," said the Englishwoman.

"We should be thanking you," replied Tony.

"That's right," agreed Bulldog. "I don't know why you stood up for us back there. You probably saved me from getting severely marked."

"No problem. With analysts like those, who needs enemies?" she replied. The British woman then turned to look at Tony. "Just remember you owe me one," she said to him and held up her index finger.

Tony cocked an eyebrow, clueless as to what she was referring to. "I don't get it. One what?"

"Weren't you paying attention? You shot one bandit off my six and I knocked two off yours. You owe me one," she replied with a confident smirk.

Tony cracked a smiled at her comment. "If the opportunity presents itself I'll be sure to pay you back. By the way, I'm Tony." He extended a hand.

"You can call me 'Sophie.'" She returned the handshake.

All the pilots were starving after the debrief and in no time at all one of the Israelis directed them to the local food stop on the base, where they all entered. The whole group began having a large exchange of conversation. After turning on the TV, they learned that the U.N. vote on Resolution 2441 that was supposed to take place today had been moved to three days later, August 22nd, in light of the events that took place in Iran.

Tony left the room and stood outside of the diner. The sunset was beautiful and he could not tear his eyes away from it. He needed to enjoy silence for a moment. In one day so much in the world had changed and so many people had not survived it. Even though he was glad to be one of the few men in history to have achieved the status of an ace, he couldn't shake away the sorrow he felt for his fallen comrades.

After a few moments of quietly mourning their loss, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around to find Sophie standing there. "You know, there's plenty of healthy conversation going on inside. I don't see why you'd want to dodge a good time like this," she stated.

"I just need a moment alone," he said. "I'm sure you heard at the debrief that we took some losses over Iran. Some of those guys were friends of mine. Actually, they were all friends of mine."

The British woman seemed a little saddened by his words. "I can't say I've been there," she said solemnly. "But I do know that they fought to protect the innocent lives at home, both of our homes. I don't know who you're friends were, but I'm sure that they have no regrets about their decisions."

"That's true," Tony agreed, "Each one of them was well aware of the situation at hand and had willingly taken on the mission, just as we had."

"I will pray for God to comfort your soul and those of their families."

Tony looked back at her slightly surprised. It was then that he noticed Sophie was wearing a simple silver cross around her neck. "Thanks. I'm sure He will," he said.

The Englishwoman gave him a gentle smile before turning around to head back into the diner.

* * *

Nathan awoke in the recovery room. The room was white. Several nurses and doctors were navigating their way about the room. One of the doctors was near him on the left side of his bed.

The first thing that Nathan felt was a wave of relief. He had withstood the Persian doctor's interrogation, stolen a Russian jet, escaped the Russian mercenary and his Kuwaiti assistants, slid under Saudi radar, got some pictures that might be useful, and finally landed in safe territory. On top of all that was the satisfaction that he had accomplished the mission and destroyed the Iranian nuclear reactors. The second thing he felt was sorrow from the death of his WSO, Romeo, and his teacher Baker, whom he had grown close to during his instruction. The third thing that he realized he didn't feel were his legs and arms. They were completely numb. The fact that he couldn't feel them made him worry that the doctor had amputated them when he went in to surgery. The U.S. Air Force pilot briefly lifted his head to examine his body. _"Good, they're all still there."_ His arms had skin grafts on them and the wounds in his legs had been sewn together.

"Well, Mr. Zachary," the doctor near his bed began, "I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like to hear first?"

Nathan immediately felt uncomfortable with another doctor asking him questions. He didn't think he would ever look at doctors the same again.

"Let's get the bad news over with."

"Okay. The muscle tissue in your legs has been permanently damaged and you may never be able to fly a fighter aircraft again."

_"Ouch."_

"The good news is that I won't have to amputate your legs or arms and with a little physical therapy you'll be able to walk again with no problems."

"Thanks, doc."

With that the doctor left. It was then that Nathan noticed a very beautiful Russian woman on his right. Vanya had fallen asleep in a chair beside him. Nathan couldn't help but notice how peaceful she looked when she was at rest. He owed his life to her. He sincerely wished that there was some way he could show her how grateful he was to her other than merely keeping his deal about trying to get her American citizenship.

Vania's amazing blue eyes slowly began to open.

"Hey there," Nathan said to her. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she replied. "It's remarkable we made it this far."

Just then four men entered the room. They consisted of one U.S. and one U.K. intelligence officer along with two men in slick black suits wearing darkly tinted shades.

"Oh crap," Nathan mumbled under his breath. Anyone who has been in the military long enough would know that men in black suits always meant something bad. That something bad usually involved one of the major black ops intelligence gathering agencies. He relaxed as much as possible and decided that the best thing to do was act calm and tell the truth as plainly as possible.

The U.S. intelligence officer directed the men in black suits to Vanya. "That's her, gentlemen," he said. The black suited men motioned for Vanya to come with them. She complied and went with the two men as they led her out of the room.

As the men disappeared with Vanya the U.K. officer produced a tape recorder and set it on one of the stands near Nathan's bed. "We need to know everything you know and we need to know it yesterday. So start talking."

* * *

**Red Crown: Remember to review if you want me to update! Your reviews still provide fuel for my writing engines and could cause me to produce the next chapter in spite of my work.**


	15. Secrets Out

**Red Crown: Here's the first new chapter in a long time. Please enjoy.**

_"Instead of a man of peace and love, I have become a man of violence and revenge."_ -Hiawatha

* * *

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: _**"Secrets Out"**_

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 2112 hours, 9:12 P.M. (Tel Aviv Time)**

**Location: Unknown Hospital in Israel**

"Is Vanya going to be able to come stateside?"

Nathan had spent a good few hours telling the intelligence officers everything he had done and seen from the moment the mission began to landing in Israel. They asked him questions along the way and he tried to give them the best answers he could. Now that it was all over he wanted to ask if Vanya could get the asylum she had risked her life for.

"Yes, those two men in suits who came in here are CIA agents," the U.S. officer answered, "They haven't explained everything to me, but they were going to offer Vanya a deal. She would get asylum in the U.S. and protection if she gave us any and all information that she has on Russian intelligence and operations. If what you told me about her is true and she cooperates fully then she should be fine."

Nathan layed his head back in bed. "That's good."

* * *

**Location: Outside the Hospital**

Vanya thought it was strange to see agents from her rival agency sitting down with her and not trying to kill her. She had faced CIA agents before, but under drastically different circumstances. They had brought her outside and into a black sedan that was parked behind the hospital. One of them sat in the driver's seat while another sat in the back seat. Once they had her sit in the other back seat of the vehicle they offered her asylum in exhange for information. She agreed, but felt her discomfort with giving away information on Russia.

There she spent a good few hours giving them the information while they recorded everything she said on a small voice recorder that was directly linked via satellite to some place in the United States that she did not know of. She explained the goals of the Russian-Islamic alliance and named specific countries involved and their level of involvement. They asked questions, many of which were about the strike group that hit Iran. She answered them to the best of her ability. She also named a few Russian generals and military officers that she knew were stationed in the Middle East, including her father and Krylov. Lastly she gave them her cell phone with the recorded image that she had taken in Saudi Arabia. Her discomfort passed when they described the conditions of her asylum.

The CIA agent pulled out a USA travel brochure and handed it to her. She opened it and found a large map of the United States. "You can pick any state or U.S. territory that you want and we'll arrange comfortable living conditions there for you. We'll give you a new name, new citizenship, a fair amount of money, and armed guards."

She wanted to live in a place with people that she could trust and also had nice weather. She really didn't like Oregon at all when she was there. The only American that she knew was trustworthy for certain was Nathan. It was always an advantage to have someone who's house she could travel to and hide in if her original house was assaulted. She thought that if he lived somewhere with nice weather she would move there, if not then some place south of Florida would be her next destination. She hesitated before asking her question. "What city does Nathan live in?"

"Is he the pilot that flew you here?" asked the man sitting next to her.

"Da."

"I don't know. I could go ask if you like."

"Do that."

The CIA agent opened the door of the car. Not even after he extended his foot outside onto the ground there was the sound of automatic weapons fire. A sound of meat getting heavily impacted also followed as the agent's head jerked back. The rest of his body fell limply onto Vanya's lap. Blood had splashed all over her face and she screamed. Bullets bounce all over the car.

The other agent in the driver's seat started the engine of the car and hit the gas. The car didn't move. He looked at the gauges and saw that he was out of fuel. "They drained the gas out!" he realized.

Suddenly before either of them realized it three men dressed head to toe in black and wearing ski-masks came upon the car. One of them sprayed the windsheild with automatic fire trying to kill the other agent, but the glass was bullet proof and didn't yeild. One of the other men then stuck his weapon in the open door of the car that the first agent had stepped out of. He let loose a volley of rounds on the CIA agent in the driver's seat that torn him apart before he could pull out his own weapon. Vanya's ears started ringing from the loud sound of the weapon discharging so close to her. That same man then reached in and with incredible strength yanked Vanya out of the car by her hair and threw her to the ground.

Vanya pulled out her MR-444 and leveled it at the man's head before pulling the trigger and killing him. The other two men grabbed her and wrestled her pistol away. She was struck across the face by the stock of a rifle that she could recognize as an An-94. The force of the blow knocked her on her side. She felt a strong kick in her midsection that snapped a rib and knocked the wind out of her.

One of the men grabbed her by her throat, lifted her entirely off the ground, and shoved her up against the wall of the hospital while the other shouted curses at her in Russian. At this moment Vanya guessed these men were SVR assassins.

"How much information did you give them?" the one that had her throat shouted to her in Russian.

Vanya knew that they must have been searching for an answer so that they could give it to their superiors and find out exactly how much the U.S. knew on the issue. This would help them anticipate what to do next.

After a few seconds he got impatient. "We're going to ravage you for hours if you don't start talking, whore! What do the Americans know?" he shouted again.

The longer Vanya kept her mouth shut the longer she had to live. She spit at the man's face and was thrown back on the ground in reply. The man became filled with rage and leveled his assault rifle at her face.

Just then she heard two gun shots. Both men fell to the ground. Two Israeli police officers approached the scene. She was surprised they fired first before asking questions, it was a good thing that she had been thrown to the ground before they opened fire. They must have heard the initial shots and once they saw the weapons that the assassins had they simply took no chances.

They shouted to her in Hebrew, a language she didn't know. She guessed they were telling her to not move so she remained still. She didn't resist when they arrested her. One of them noticed that there was a lot of blood on her face and she looked to be in terrible condition so he reasoned with his partner to bring her in the hospital instead of the police station. Vanya thought that it was a miracle she was still alive.

* * *

**Date: August 19, 2015**

**Time: 2234 hours, 10:34 P.M. (Tel Aviv Time)**

**Location: Israeli Air Defense Force Base, the Diner**

The entire nation of Israel was in a state of celebration that night because of the successful destruction of the nuclear facilities in Iran.

Both the Americans and the British who had taken part in the strike tried to get permission to leave for their respective countries, but both were denied until further notice and not given a reason. When they tried to get permission to leave the base and go out for liberty in the nearest town they were also turned down on the grounds that Israel was vulnerable when it was in a state of celebration and to go out in town anywhere other than the hotel that they were staying at could be potentially dangerous.

They were the ones that had completed the mission so they all felt the need to throw some kind of celebration. In addition to that, the American, British, and Israeli crews had no idea if they would ever meet again once they headed out for their homes. So the group of pilots and aircrew mostly just stayed in the diner and partied in whatever way they could by telling each other stories about how they did in the dogfight, playing drinking games, watching sports, and using a strange karaoke machine that a group of the Israeli base maintenance brought out.

Eventually Tony came to the conclusion that although he lost his comrades they wouldn't want him sulking in sorrow about it. Mourning now would in no way bring them back and the odds that he was going to meet the amazing crew that he worked with again were low. He tried to enjoy himself as best he could. He even drank, but refused to go any further once he felt the numbing effects of the beer start to take hold, which was how he knew that he had reached his limit. He was still fully coherent. Suddenly someone grabbed Tony and pulled him to the center of the room and shouted in a British accent, "Gentlemen, this man right here is an ace pilot! We need to properly crown him!"

In no time at all he was hoisted up and crowd surfed around the room, then Pat opened a fresh bottle of champagne and let the carbon stabilizing exhaust blast hit him entirely in his face. He was offered several beers, which he then refused since he felt he didn't want to go passed his limit.

As Tony was crowd surfed across the room he thought he saw Bulldog sitting in a corner drinking bitter scotch and smirking.

Scorch was also holding back from celebrating. He lightly sipped his Jeremiah Weed and watched Tony with a slight hint of envy. He too had become an ace by killing the four MiG-31s in the dogfight; bringing his total to seven kills if he counted the ones he got from the engagement over the Taiwan Strait, which according to both the Chinese and U.S. governments never happened. Multiple threats had been given to him to keep his mouth shut about them or he would disappear. He had tried to get stationed back to Taiwan in hopes that the Chinese would try to attack Taiwan's crucial infrastructure again and he would meet that Su-30 pilot with the red tiger's paw print. He was constantly refused every time by his superior's based on fears that he was on a personal quest for revenge. Their fears were accurate. Scorch downed his drink entirely and ordered another. Tonight he wanted to forget about what had happened over Taiwan and over Iran and over Jordan. He wanted to forget everything.

One of the Israeli fighter pilots turned the music to something loud and pounding that allowed everyone in the diner to go crazy and begin a dance circle. This eventually resulted in all the tables and chairs being pushed against the walls so that a dance contest between the British and the Israelis could be started. Pat eventually joined on the side of the British to even out the numbers.

As everyone else was participating in the dance contest Tony walked off to the side and sat in one of the chairs. The pounding music gave him a headache. The fact that he was slightly buzzed from the alcohol helped to null the pain. He didn't usually like parties, but he didn't want to leave this one because he was still having a good time and wanted to see who would actually win the dance contest. He sat down and held his throbbing head.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw that it was Sophie. "You don't seem like the heavy partying type to me," she said with a laugh.

"Only when I feel like it," he replied.

Suddenly, the Israeli officer on duty walked into the diner and told the British and the Americans that there was a bus waiting outside to take them to the briefing room where they were going to receive a new assignment.

The Americans and British dropped what they were doing and got on the bus, which immediately took them back past the tarmac with their aircraft and towards the building with the briefing room.

"How did that get there?" Pat wondered out loud. Everyone turned to see where she was looking and saw that there was an Su-34 parked farther out on another tarmac, which peeked their curiosity.

The group was rushed into the briefing room and quickly sat in their chairs. A single American civilian intelligence officer, who was tall, well kept, Caucasian, and wearing casual clothes walked into the room. He handed each of them a folder and before sitting down in a chair that was in front of them. The pilots all opened their folders and began to read the new orders that they had each received. The British pilots received a series of orders that told them to fly their aircraft to the United Kingdom and to escort the Americans as they flew back with them. The Americans received orders that told them to fly to London where they would land and receive fueling support from an Air Force KC-10 that would take them to Virginia.

"This is a priority one straight from Washington and what I am about to tell you is classified above top secret," the intelligence officer said.

The Americans and the British in the room sobered up immediately upon hearing these words.

"We have learned from a Russian source that most of the countries in the Middle East are either uniting or being manipulated to unite in an alliance with the Russian Federation."

The room was silent as the pilots soaked in this information.

The intelligence officer continued, "We pulled the feed from Lieutenant Richardson's IRST sensor and it may contain evidence that implicates the Russians in the stolen nuclear weapons incidents, but it was damaged in the combat that ensued over Jordan. When Lieutenant Richardson flew over the nuclear plants at low altitude he accidentally flew directly over an exchange meeting between Russian officials and Iranian terrorists that the FLIR could have captured on film. This is why they ordered the Syrians to eliminate you. If this feed does contain the evidence, then we can show it to the world and it may turn the tide of this political game that's going on in the Middle East. It could also potentially stop U.N. Resolution 2441 from gaining momentum and prevent a war.

"The disk and all its software was made in a Lockheed plant in Virginia. We are going to spend all night trying to repair it here in Israel, but it looks like Lockheed may be the only ones with the right equipment to get it working again. If we fail here, you need to get it to Virginia A-S-A-P and straight to the Lockheed plant."

"Wait," interrupted Scorch, "If we were the target, then why did they expend so much effort to kill our AWACS?"

"During both the engagements over Iran and Jordan, the AWACS had intercepted Russian communications feeds and recorded them. Not only that, the intercepted communications feeds contained codes that could have given us the locations of several Russian military assets that have already been moved into the area in preparation to enforce Resolution 2441. The feeds could also have been used as evidence of heavy handed Russian involvement in the area and this would have been used to further expose them at the UN. The AWACS crew told us this when they were on their way to make it back from the fighting over Jordan. Apparently the Russians overheard our communications with the AWACS and ordered a mercenary fighter in the area to terminate it. In fact, this mercenary pilot is the exact same pilot of that Super Flanker that shot down Dodge flight and one of your F-22s over Iran. It's also not the first time he encountered American forces. Part of this brief is to warn you about him."

The intelligence officer then flipped a switch on one of the screens to bring up a grainy poor-quality picture of a MiG-29 Fulcrum on an airstrip that was surrounded by fields of tall grass. The Sudanese flag was waving on a flagpole in the background and the MiG-29 was painted in Sudanese colors. On the side of the Fulcrum's fuselage was a black star with the white outline of a black queen chess piece centered. Standing on the leading edge of the Fulcrum was a tall, dark haired, blue eyed Russian man in his early 20's wearing a flight suit with a helmet under his armpit. His cold emotionless eyes stared right back at the camera.

The intel officer began to brief from there. "Not too long after September 11th, 2001 America had become very much aware of Al-Qaeda bases in Northern Sudan and sent strike squadrons from both the U.S. Air Force and the U.S. Navy to destroy them in late 2002. This pilot, Sergei Krylov, was on a contract with a small Russian mercenary squadron that consisted of four pilots known as the VSR-74th _'The Crimson Hammers.'_ Krylov defeated both of our strike groups on his own, wiping out eight Air Force F-16s, and four Navy F-14s in several covert operations that never made it to the media."

The intelligence officer flipped another switch and the image changed to that of wreckage on the ground. It was not long before the group recognized it as parts of an F-16 on the ground. He pushed another button and the image changed to that of new wreckage that was floating in a river. The damaged wing of an F-14 Tomcat being pushed downstream by the current was clearly visible in the foreground of the picture. At the bank of the river was the cracked canopy of the jet.

"The Air Force pilots even gave him a nickname after intel confirmed he was Russian," stated the officer.

"What's that?" asked Pat.

_"The Red Czar."_

The group immediately recognized the reference to _The Red Baron_, the first and original ace of aces in WWI.

The officer then continued with the brief, "Apparently, Krylov lost his instructor and the other two members of _The Crimson Hammers_ squadron in the opening skirmishes. He holds a strong hatred for Americans because of it. If word got out that Al-Qaeda bases were being protected by a Russian mercenary in the volatile state that the world was in after the Nine Eleven Terrorist Attacks it could have sparked a third world war. Both the United States and the Russian Federation covered up the incidents and even worked together to collect the wreckage of the aircraft and allow American Special Forces teams to crush Al-Qaeda bases throughout Sudan. They proceeded to destroy any other documents and evidence regarding the conflict as well with the exception of records maintained by the CIA and FSB. Krylov was forcefully taken back to Russia and drafted into the Russian Air Force. He was never heard from again, that is until now of course."

The intelligence officer flipped another switch and the image on the screen changed to a satellite image of an Su-35S Super Flanker painted in dark desert camouflage with a white nose, Iranian Air Force markings, and the same black star, this time with a unicode symbol for the black queen chess piece on the fuselage. The Americans immediately recognized the jet and the personal symbol.

"This is his current aircraft. We tracked him landing in Syria after he killed the AWACS. He is currently remaining at an air base there. We don't know if he is going to attempt to attack you when you leave for England. As far as we know the Russians don't know that the disk is damaged. They must think that we have the capability to use it already so attacking you wouldn't make sense to them. Krylov is a fighter pilot of the highest caliber and is extremely lethal once he gets within visual range. If he does get within visual range of you I advise you to _avoid_ engaging him. If you face him, you'll be in for the fight of your life.

"Right now the Russians are going to try to get U.N. Resolution 2441 passed and they want to make it look like the alliance between the Middle East and them is something naturally forming from Western aggression. When we attacked Iran it gave them the justification they needed to the rest of the world to look like a victim. Victims are the most powerful and dangerous in the world of politics. It looks like destroying Israel is their main objective, then total seizure of the Middle East oil reserves to dominate the planet economically.

"If we can repair that IRST disk and show it to the world it will prove that the Russians have been helping to give the Iranians nukes to annihilate the west and tarnish their image so that this alliance can never happen. We also need the world to see it before the U.N. has the vote on Resolution 2441.

"Everything depends on you, gentlemen. Don't choke. Get a good night's sleep. We'll find out if we can repair it here in Israel tomorrow morning, but if we can't you will leave here with the disk at about zero-nine-hundred. Dismissed."

With that the group headed outside to the bus, which took them back to the hotel.

* * *

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 0000 hours, 12:00 A.M. (Tel Aviv Time)**

**Location: Israel**

A man is sitting in a special electronics repair shop. In front of him are all his tools. He grows frustrated.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I can do anything to help you. I don't know how to repair this type of equipment. You need to take it to whoever built it," he said as he handed the disk over to an Israeli officer.

The officer then took the disk and placed it in a special suitcase.

He walked away and headed outside towards his armored Humvee with armed guards. He climbed in the vehicle and drove away.

Meanwhile a small Toyota pickup truck is resting outside the electronic repair shop. In it sat a single man with some of the most advanced listening equipment available.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. Once a person on the other end answered the call he spoke in Russian. "The disc is damaged. They're taking it to America."

* * *

**Red Crown: I always thought that a nickname made by an enemy is always more terrifying than a nickname that is self-made, which is one of the reasons I didn't think Markov's name in Assault Horizon was all that intimidating. Please let me know what you think of this chapter. Maybe if I get enough reviews I will update sooner again.**


	16. Chess Pieces

_"Vive la mort, vive la guerre, vive le sacre mercenaire."_ (_"Long live death, long live war, long live the cursed mercenary."_) - Mercenary marching cadence and toast.

* * *

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: _**"Chess Pieces"**_

**Date****: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 0115 hours, 1:15 A.M. (Eastern European Summer Time)**

**Location: Syria, ****Syrian Air Force base in northwestern Syria**

Krylov shifted uncomfortably in his sleep. A dream was brewing in the back of his brain that was causing him extreme agony. The dream brought him back to a time when he was a different man, back to a time before he had become the cold blooded killing machine that he prided himself on being today.

* * *

_**Date: December 15th, 2002**_

_**Time: 1032 hours, 10:32 A.M. (East Africa Time)**_

_**Location: ****Sudan, Sudanese Air Force base north of Khartoum**_

_The sun was high in the sky. It was very hot and very humid. In all directions there was lush green jungle or tall grass fields. The air strip, which was constructed of simple concrete, was somewhat worn away and needed to be repainted with lines and distance markers. A Sudanese flag flew high on a flagpole near the center of the base. Only two hangers existed that housed two MiG-29 Fulcrums in each one._

_Krylov, in his early 20s at this time, dawned his flight gear and headed out to his MiG-29 Fulcrum, which was already loaded with fuel and weapons. His eyes were not dull and cold at that this time, but energized, determined, and confident._

_The MiG-29 was the advanced Fulcrum C-model, with an enlarged spine that housed avionics and extra fuel. The MiG-29 was painted in a camo scheme that consisted of light brown, dark brown, and an even darker brown. Sudanese markings and roundels were painted about the jet. _

_He checked his weapons and saw that he had the standard armament for the operations that he was planning on carrying out. He was armed with one centerline mounted fuel tank, four 250 kilogram unguided bombs, and two R-73 "Archer" missiles._

_Once he was certain the right weapons were loaded he climbed up into the cockpit. Next to his MiG-29 was another Fulcrum with his instructor and flight lead sitting in the cockpit._

_"Krylov, you better treat these planes with respect. I know I trained you well in flight school and the fact that you are even here with me means that you are an exceptional pilot, but if you screw up this op I'll have your head on a silver platter and feed it to my starving children," came the rough scratchy voice of his instructor._

_"Of course, Comrade Fedorov. I just hope you can keep up with me," replied Krylov with a smirk._

_Nikolai Fedorov had slick black hair that was graying over from stress. He was just as tall as Krylov and had a square jaw and smooth face. His eyes were pale blue and they looked tired. Fedorov was in his late 30's and was one of the most experienced pilots of the Soviet Air Force. He was also tough as nails and still held on to the old fashion Marxist-Leninist ideals of Communism. He held on to them so much that he even preferred to be called "Comrade Fedorov."_

_Once the Soviet Union collapsed he was left on the streets for a while and endured a hard life in the first half of the 1990's. He finally got an idea and decided to advertise himself as a mercenary MiG-29 pilot that would take contracts from foreign governments and fight for their air forces. He left the new Russian Air Force and received a few contracts, but business for him didn't start booming until the Russian government began to get involved with his work and sent him requests for countries that it wanted him to fight in, along with extra pay. Business was initially good, but he wanted to take it a step further and have a squadron. He needed more pilots for better business. Once he got permission through bribing some Russian Air Force officials with money obtained from his first operations he became involved in the Air Force's fighter pilot training program and was allowed to take the three best pilots for his new mercenary squadron VSR-74th "The Crimson Hammers." _

_Krylov was one of those pilots. In fact, he was the best pilot Fedorov ever had under his training._

_Fedorov was mostly just looking to make a buck off the skills that he knew. What he did provided a living for his family, which was something he couldn't do during the first half of the 90's._

_Sudan was a country ripped in half by civil war on a massive scale with no end in sight. There was a growing movement of rebels that was extremely violent and causing a lot chaos for the government. The Muslim Sudanese government was extremely violent itself and fighting to maintain what little control it had over its territory. The country was riddled with Arab tribes called the Janjaweed that were known for voracious ethnic clensing attacks against the native African population. Although the government would never admit to it they had helped the Janjaweed in many of its actions. As if to make things even more gruesome the Sudanese military, which was mostly made up of war criminals and radical extremists, was engaged in a long and enduring campaign against the woefully unarmed, predominantly Christian southern part of the country. They were using everything including mass genocide, rape, forced slavery, and starvation._

_In short, Sudan was a perfect place for a group of mercenary pilots looking to offer their services. _

_Russia had sold Sudan several MiG-29 Fulcrum-C models, but the Sudanese didn't have time to train pilots and the need to use the aircraft in the conflicts was great. The Crimson Hammers were there on a contract with the Sudanese government to fight against its enemies and train Sudan's new pilots to fly the MiG-29._

_The mission was swift and effective. Krylov and Fedorov took off in their brand new Fulcrums. They found a rebel position, dropped their bombs into it with excellent precision, then headed back to base. Upon leaving their aircraft Fedorov slapped him on the back hard enough to almost knock him over and said, "That was some hot flying, Krylov. Keep it up and you'll have your own name in the mercenary business someday too."_

_"I plan too," Krylov said arrogantly._

_Right as he and Fedorov walked off the tarmac they were greeted by the other two members of the squadron. __They both wore the same light blue flight suits and gear that Krylov and Fedorov had. The insignia of the squadron, a sledge hammer dripping blood, was also on their shoulders._

_The first was a blond man with short hair and very piercing blue-green eyes. He was tall, but not as tall as Krylov or Fedorov. He was also somewhat bulky in muscle compared to the others. The name on his flight suit was Sasha Suvorov. He was the son of a Soviet General who became a rich mafia boss. He was also an excellent pilot and became a mercenary primarily because he enjoyed the thrill of war. He was trained by Fedorov as well._

_The second was a lean woman who also was not as tall as Krylov or Fedorov, but was taller than Suvorov. Her brown eyes were refined, beautiful, and deep as the sea. She had a long face, perfect Slavic features, silky long dark brown hair, and white skin that was slightly tanned from being in the sun. Her hair she wore in a pony tail as she always did when conducting sorties. She didn't have any make up on at the moment, but that didn't even matter. She still looked gorgeous without it. The name inscribed on her flight suit was Natasha Rudneva. She was the daughter of a KGB operative that rose to power in the FSB after the Soviet collapse. She had also gone through flight school with Krylov and was trained by Fedorov. Her skills were only surpassed by Krylov._

_"Did you get the targets?" asked Suvorov, who spoke with no emotion in his voice whatsoever._

_"Da."_

_"Good, that saves me another trip," he stated flatly and walked away._

_Rudneva slapped him on the shoulder. "Good job. You made us look good on the first mission. We will get a lot more business that way."_

_Krylov seemed a little quiet. "No problem."_

_Rudneva noticed that recently every time she talked to Krylov he seemed to act strangely. A smile crept on her face as a thought came to mind. She slowly brought her face dangerously close to his and stopped only three inches away. The beautiful brunette spoke in a voice that was almost a whisper, "Looking good is extremely important to our business. Do you agree?"_

_Krylov's eyes widened in slight surprise and his usually deep, powerful voice replied back with a slightly higher pitched, "Absolutely."_

_"Good," she said as she grabbed his arm and gave it a friendly squeeze before turning away and heading toward the mess hall._

_Krylov watched her walk away. That was not the first time she had done something like that since flight school ended. They had become really good friends at the beginning of basic flight school two years ago. After they had arrived in Sudan he realized that she was messing with his head every time she got the chance. He both hated and loved when she did that to him. He really liked her because of her kindness to him through flight school though. She was always helping him with notes and studying with him when he struggled in the classroom._

_Fedorov walked over to Krylov and put his arm around his shoulder, "That woman's really taken with you. You better make a move before someone else does."_

_"I'm not good when it comes to talking to women and I'm much too obsessed with flying and war to worry about them."_

_"Krylov, you are pathetic. And you are blind. You can face war and brave enemy fire without problems, but you can't talk to a beautiful woman! I don't think Rudneva cares about how well you talk. I've seen multiple men attempt to sweet talk her and she ignored them completely. If anything, I've known her for two years since she wanted to fly and the only person I've seen her act flirtatious towards is you. You only live once," the instructor stated before leaving the pilot to tend to his own business. As he was walking away he shouted to his student, "I already taught you how to fly. Don't make me teach you everything."_

_Krylov half-smiled at his instructor's parting words. He pulled out his journal and made a note of how his operations went._

_He loved his job and the pay was very generous. He went on four more sorties that day. The rebel forces simply didn't have any equipment that could withstand or defend against an aerial assault, aside from heavy machine guns. The air strikes were effective in halting the rebels. However, the Sudanese army, which was poorly trained and more like an armed mob, simply could not keep the positions that it took after the air strikes. Fortunately, this just meant more business for the Russians._

_As for the second part of the mission given to The Crimson Hammers, training the Sudanese pilots to fly the Fulcrum, it was nearly impossible. In Krylov's opinion, the Sudanese were nothing except barbaric savages. Teaching them how to use a computer would have been a miracle. Teaching them how to use a complex, high performance fighter jet with multiple computers was well beyond that. The pilots that Sudan picked for its fighters were chosen for their loyalty to the regime and not their intelligence so the mercenary fighter pilots didn't even get the brightest students the country had to offer. Again, this just meant more business for the Russians._

_Later that night Krylov wrote his report on the last sortie and headed back to his own personal barracks, which featured some relatively comfortable living conditions compared to the rest of the country. His barracks consisted of one room the size of a trailer. He had things most of Sudan didn't have, such as a working toilet and shower, a battery powered microwave, air conditioning, a bed with blankets, and a computer with internet access. The other mercenary pilots had them too._

_After flipping on his lamp, which was essentially a light bulb dangling by the wires out of the ceiling, he took a seat on a chair near his desk and flipped on his computer. The computer was as slow as a slug crawling through syrup when it came to starting up. He guessed that it wasn't going to be up before he had to conduct a maintenance check on the MiG-29s at 2200, which was only 14 minutes away. The Sudanese were preparing the aircraft this time and he had no doubt in his mind that they were going to royally screw it up. _

_To pass the time he grabbed a book on Soviet air-to-ground tactics learned during the war in Afghanistan and decided to read while the CPU went through the start up process. At the same time he reached over beside his desk to open a small cooler filled with ice and pull out a bottle of high quality vodka from his Motherland, which he popped open and took a drink from. His tolerance for alcohol was so strong it barely even affected him._

_His desk was arrayed very neatly. It had several military and Soviet books on it along with a model of a MiG-29 Fulcrum in Russian Air Force colors. On the edge of his desk rested a framed picture of him and a large group of pilots all standing in front of a MiG-29 in snowy weather. In the picture, he was standing right next to Rudneva and Suvorov, who were both smiling while he had a serious facial expression that boldly showed his military pride. In the center of the group was Fedorov, also serious. _

_Suddenly he heard a knock on the door. "It's open," he said. The door cracked open and once he saw Natasha Rudneva he put his book down. "Rudneva?"_

_"Call me 'Natasha.'" She said, "We've known each other since flight school and you have kept calling me by my last name all this time. I'm sick of it."_

_"Of course, Rudne- I mean Natasha."_

_A smile crept up on her face as she slinked her way through his barracks and sat on the edge of his desk. As she came closer Krylov saw she had a light shade of make up on that enhanced her beauty. Her long hair was down completely and cleaned so nicely that it reflected some of the light from Krylov's lamp back into his eyes whenever it moved. On top of that she had some sort of perfume that made even her flight suit smell good. She looked amazing._

_"So how may I help you, Natasha?" asked Krylov as he held the vodka bottle towards her, offering her a drink._

_"I love it when you do that," she said and took the bottle before taking a lasting sip. Her strong Russian genes made her tolerant to the drink as well._

_"Do what?"_

_"Act quiet and yet professional." She handed the vodka back._

_"I am not acting," he replied as he took the bottle and placed it on his desk so either of them could take a drink if they wanted to._

_"And you are a terrible liar." The beautiful Slavic woman reached over to the picture on his desk and examined it in her hand. "Flight training was a thrill wasn't it? I remember that time I accidentally dived right into our instructor's ambush during the mock air combat drills and you surprised them all by setting up a counter ambush that fooled them. They were yelling at you for days."_

_"Yes, I remember that too. The instructors gave me quite a rough week after that moment."_

_Natasha then pointed a finger at Krylov and said in a reprimanding voice that was obviously mocking Fedorov, "Comrade Krylov! The first rule of flying is to always be perfect! The second rule of flying is never to do anything that makes your instructors look bad! Which one of these did you break? Both of them!"_

_Krylov and Natasha shared a laugh at the memory._

_Just then Krylov's watch beeped letting them both know that they had to conduct the maintenance check on their aircraft. He glanced at his computer and his guess was right. It hadn't finished starting up._

_Both he and Natasha headed out of the barracks to the number one hanger, which housed both of their Fulcrums parked side by side. The night was warm and there was not a cloud in the sky to be seen for miles. The moon was bright and made up for the dim lighting on the base. As both pilots walked into the hangers they saw that everyone had left. It was only occupied by their two aircraft and several scattered spare parts. The lights were off so as not to make a bright target in the night. Powerful moonlight pooled in from the open hanger doors to illuminate their aircraft. _

_When the two mercenaries examined their warplanes they exchanged knowing glances of frustration._

_"Yep, the Sudanese government personnel messed up everything," Krylov said._

_"Those idiots can't do anything right. Look at this! They didn't even bother to replinish the oil!" Natasha said equally frustrated._

_"This just means we're going to need to wake up the contractors from MiG-MAPO and have them start over," Krylov thought out loud. He looked over at Natasha's Fulcrum and saw that there was a personal symbol painted on her aircraft fuselage behind the cockpit. It looked like the white outline of a black queen chess piece centered in a black star. "When did you paint that on there?"_

_"A couple hours ago," she answered as she lifted one of the panels on her jet._

_"Does it have any meaning or did you just make that because you think it looks good?" Krylov asked as he ran his hands through the upper louves on one of his Fulcrum's leading edge root extensions to check for any foreign object damage._

_Natasha gave him a playfully annoyed look as she climbed on top of her jet from the rear and began to walk forward along the spine for a spot check. "Yes, it does have meaning as a matter of fact. I believe that all soldiers are pieces on a large chess board in the grand scheme of things. Some are pawns and some are royalty. They all must fight and sacrifice for the king, being those who are in power. I, however, am much too skilled to be any piece other than the queen, the most powerful piece on the board."_

_"So it's a symbol of your arrogance."_

_"Look who's talking," she quickly responded, "You have no right to point out the flaw of arrogance because you're so full of it." _

_Krylov smirked at her retort. "Touché," he replied, finishing his checks before walking over to his female comrade to assist her in completing her's. He walked along the underside of her Fulcrum's wing towards the front landing gear._

_Unseen by Natasha's eye was a pocket of moisture that had formed on the fuselage near her cockpit as a result of the humid weather. Once her boot stepped on it she slipped and fell off the side of the jet in Krylov's direction. Krylov caught her just in time to stop her from hitting the hard concrete floor. He ended up holding her bridal style staring at the surprised expression on Natasha's face. Her arms were around his neck and resting on his shoulders. The scent of her perfume filled his senses almost immediately. He slowly put her feet back on the ground, but noticed that she seemed reluctant to move away from him or remove the position of her arms and he was in no hurry to let her. _

_Natasha's gaze rose to meet his eyes directly. __"Tell me, have you ever had a girlfriend?" she asked._

_"No. I've made the military my life since I was twelve years of age."_

_"What a shame. You're very hansome. Haven't you ever felt something special for a woman?"_

_"Yes, but I'm not very good at talking to women and I'm very busy."_

_"__Maybe you feel something for a close friend? I can see that you have felt it for a while," she said with a smile._

_"Really? I'd be trying to hide it if that was the case."_

_Natasha let out a burst of laughter. "You failed miserably," she said in between her laugh. Once her laughter died down the expression on her face became serious. She then reached over to his hands and lightly grabbed them. He subconsciously held her hands in his. The force of a flak cannon was beating in his chest. Natasha moved closer so that her face was mere inches away from his and they could each feel the others' breath blow lightly across their face. She stared longingly into his eyes._

_"Are you afraid of being with me?" she asked._

_"No," Krylov answered as he stared back into her deep brown orbs. "And yes," he added._

_Her trademark smile crept its way onto her face again. "You are such a terrible liar." Natasha was reading him like a book right now and she liked what she saw in him. The same was true for Krylov. She slowly moved her face closer to his and he responded by closing the distance. There in the moonlight under an aircraft hanger they shared a passionate kiss._

* * *

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 0308 hours, 3:08 A.M. (Eastern European Summer Time)**

**Location: Syria, ****Syrian Air Force base in northwestern Syria**

"She's dead, Krylov," he heard in Russian.

Not a moment later his cold, emotionless blue eyes snapped open and he saw Major General Maraklov was standing in the door of the barracks that the Syrians had given him. It was then that he remembered the General telling him over the radio that he was going to be coming to Syria to continue his operation against the fighters of the allied nations.

"You were mumbling Rudneva's name in your sleep. She's dead. The Americans killed her."

"I know, General."

"You've had a long day. What's your status in regards to your readiness for combat?"

Krylov got out of his rack and stood ready for anything. "I have never been better. What's the news on the enemy?"

"We're in luck. The dogfight over Jordan damaged the imaging recorder disc that the American flight was carrying when it flew over Iran's nuclear plants. They won't be able to use it in time for the world to see it before the U.N. Resolution is passed, unless of course they flew it out using fast fighter aircraft to its manufacturing plant in the United States for repairs. This is where you'll come into play. Follow me."

Krylov followed the Russian General out of the barracks and down a hallway.

As they walked Krylov asked, "What happened to your daughter?"

The General seemed reluctant to reply. "I was able to find and track her with a satellite. She landed in Israel, then I gave her location to the SVR and requested she be terminated. The operatives the SVR sent haven't reported back yet, which is making me suspicious."

The mercenary fighter pilot followed Maraklov into a room with a small computer and a lot of maps. On the computer was a satellite image of Israel, taken from a Russian spy satellite. The image was showing a feed that was playing real time. Everything in the picture was happening now.

The view zoomed in on an Israeli Air Defense Force base. It then zoomed to one of the tarmacs on the base and showed an F-22, an F/A-18E, an EA-18G, and three EF-2000s.

"That is the enemy force as it is now," began the General. "The only aircraft we know of that has an imaging recorder and flew over the nuclear plants is the F/A-18E. That Super Hornet will be your primary target. I want you to lead this operation personally from start to finish. We cannot have any mistakes this time."

"I'll make an ambush plan immediately. What assets do I have to work with?"

"I sent a request to Moscow. I think you'll like what they provided."

* * *

**Red Crown: Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. By the way I am very happy for South Sudan which recently became a new country and separated from the North, which means more freedom and rights for them! Please review! Reviews will help me to update and bring you the next chapter sooner.**


	17. Intercept

_"The path we have chosen for the present is full of hazards, as all paths are. The cost of freedom is always high, but Americans have always paid it. And one path we shall never choose, and that is the path of surrender, or submission." -_John F. Kennedy

* * *

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: _**"Intercept"**_

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 0841 hours, 8:41 A.M. (Tel Aviv Time)**

**Location: ****Israeli Air Defense Force base, ****Israel**

The sun was climbing higher again. The sky was cloudless; the air thin and warm. A strong breeze blew in the distance.

"Hey, Tony! There's a call for you!" Pat called out to him in a cheerful voice as they headed out of the hotel towards the bus. She had a bright smile on her face.

Tony wondered what she was so happy about. He went back inside the hotel and headed over to the lady behind the desk at the front. She pointed to a wall with several phones, one of which was hung on top of the receiver. He picked up the phone not knowing what to expect. "Hello."

Nathan's voice responded, "Service in Iran was terrible."

Tony smiled. "Nathan, you made it out! Where are you? How did you escape?"

"I'm in a hospital somewhere in Israel. Long story short: a defector broke me out. We stole a jet and flew it here."

"I thought you were dead! It's good to hear from you. Is Romeo with you?"

There was a brief pause before Nathan answered the question. "No, he didn't make it."

"Was it quick?"

"Yeah. He didn't feel a thing. Did anyone even bother to tell you that I made it out?"

"No. The intel officers only told us what we needed to know for our next assignment. You missed a _fantastic_ debrief by the way." Tony said the word "fantastic" with the utmost sarcasm.

"I bet it was _loads _of fun," Nathan replied equally sarcastic. "One of the intel officers told me that you guys landed in Israel and were staying at a hotel. I asked for the number and he got it to me. Glad to see that you're still alive and kicking."

"You caught us just before we were leaving. Bulldog's here and he's fine. What about you? Why are you in the hospital?"

"I was tortured in Iran shortly after I ejected. My thigh muscles are really messed up because of it. I'm also missing some skin on both my arms. I'm actually doing well though. Right now I'm worried about a friend of mine who was attacked last night."

"Is it the defector?"

"Yeah. She's hurt pretty bad. Her attackers broke one of her ribs and the broken bone fragments punctured one of her lungs. She's having trouble breathing."

* * *

In the hospital Nathan was resting well on his bed. He looked across the room and down the line of other people in the recovery room. Only two beds to his right rested Vanya. The Russian spy was sleeping and had an oxygen mask on her face. He could only see a small portion of her head through an opening left by her curtains.

"They did surgery to fix her lung. I just hope she completely recovers," he said to Tony over the phone.

* * *

"I'll be sure to pray for her," Tony responded.

"I'd really appreciate that."

Just then Bulldog called over to Tony and let him know that it was time to go.

"I gotta go now. Thanks for calling. Just knowing you're alive made my day."

"No problem. Good luck."

With that finished Tony ended the call and got on the bus, which quickly took them back to the airbase.

The American and British air crews loaded up in their aircraft. The Chief of Staff of the U.S. Air Force didn't want them taking off unarmed in case they were ambushed so he convinced his Israeli counterpart to pull some strings and give the allied planes weapons from the Israeli arsenal. They were all now armed with older weapons that the Israelis had stockpiled from previous arms purchases with the United States.

Tony examined the armament on his Super Hornet and saw that Israeli's had mounted on his fuselage stations the older AIM-120A AMRAAM, which was still a relatively good missile but was heavily susceptible to modern jammers. It was one of the few active radar weapons they had in stock that was able to be carried by the Super Hornet. On his wingtips he had been armed with AIM-9M Sidewinders, which didn't have a link with his JHMCS so if he needed to use them he would need to maneuver his aircraft for a shot instead of merely looking at the target like he could when he had AIM-9X missiles.

At this particular moment he felt like an idiot for ejecting the weapons pylons from his aircraft before the dogfight over Jordan since he knew the Israelis could have used them to mount more weapons. He could have used the extra ammo. At least his wings were clean and he would have little drag.

His Vulcan gun ammunition was restocked so that it had 570 rounds again. His fuel tanks were at maximum capacity and his chaff and flare dispensers had been replenished. Just as he was approaching his aircraft the same intelligence officer that briefed them last night walked over to him and handed him the damaged disc feed, which he accepted and placed back into the IRST sensor on his jet.

It then dawned on him the weight of the intelligence that he was carrying. This little bit of intel his jet had in it could potentially stop a war.

Tony looked over to Pat and Bulldog as they climbed inside their EA-18G, which was armed with four AIM-120As on its fuselage and in the positions that they had originally taken off with HARMs when they began the strike in Iran. Pat and Bulldog gave him a thumbs up showing that they were ready. Tony returned the gesture.

Scorch walked over to his F-22 Raptor, now loaded with two AIM-9Ms and four AIM-120As. All too soon he wished he had known about this flight before the party last night. He had a bad hangover and regretted drinking. He planned in advance to put his jet on auto pilot and take a nap on the way there.

He spotted the British crews loading up into their aircraft. The EF-2000's each were armed with four AIM-120A's and two AIM-9Ms. Bishop, the British flight lead, looked back at him and gave a slow nod in his direction. Scorch nodded back, a sign of understanding between the two warriors that they would forget about their disagreements with the last flight and work together if something bad happened.

The British KC-45 tanker, which also had the pilot from Biscuit 80 on board, took off first and was followed by the formations of British and American fighters. They turned northwest and headed toward their flight path, which would take them over the Mediterranean, Greece, Italy, France, and finally to the U.K. where the British fighters would land for some serious R&R. The Americans would then fly over Ireland, the Atlantic Ocean, and ingress to the states.

* * *

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 0911 hours, 9:11 A.M. (Damascus Time)**

**Location: ****Syrian Air Force base, ****northwestern Syria**

Krylov sat in his aircraft prepared and ready, waiting for the signal to be given to him that the enemy fighters had taken off. Behind him sat a squadron of seven mercenary pilots, all of which had Su-35S Super Flankers. The planes were painted in Russian-style white, black, and gray camouflage with no distinguishable markings and heavily armed with the latest Russian air-to-air missiles. All of their serial numbers had been removed and given to other aircraft in the Sukhoi production line. By definition these planes did not exist.

Major General Maraklov's request for enough assets to destroy the allied force and the disc were more than answered and he was giving the finest Russian military contractors, with missiles and ammo provided by the Russian state arms monopoly Rosoboronexport. They had all flown in from Russia shortly after Maraklov had asked for them.

Krylov noticed one of the maintenance personnel walking up his ladder. He looked at the man and saw that it was a Russian private contractor, which meant he was getting reliable service. The contractor gave him a thumbs up signifying his aircraft was fully armed and fully fueled. Krylov nodded to him to affirm that he understood. He checked his armament: three R-74MEs, one R-73R, two R-77Ts, five R-77Ms, and one R-77P.

Just then a voice came over the radio, "It's snowing in the desert! I repeat, it's snowing in the desert!"

Those were the code words that let the mercenary pilots know that the enemy fighters had taken off and it was time to begin the operation. Krylov strapped the aircraft to his body and flipped the switches necessary to power up the beast. His fellow mercenary pilots also suited up and revved up their machines as well.

Krylov flipped the switch to close his canopy and got on the radio to talk to his comrades in arms. "This is Pheonix Zero, follow my lead. Stick with the plan. Remember no one engages until I fire the first shot. We will need to close the distance to visual range for confirmation that the targets have been destroyed."

One of the other mercenary pilot's voice came over the radio, "Pheonix Zero, Pheonix One, what are our orders should we encounter opposition from allied nations of the target?"

"Phoenix One, Phoenix Zero, terminate any opposition to the objective."

The plan was simple: wait for the allied group to take off and fly over the Mediterranean, then take off and fly a course at low altitude using terrain masking to dodge ship based radar along the border of Turkey in pursuit. The mercenary pilots had to wait for their targets to be well within Greek air space before attacking them. They would intercept the targets from behind over Greece and terminate them there, then head back and land in Turkey, which had new leaders that were much more radical than its previous ones. Turkey had also grown tired of being refused entry into the EU and became a member of the secret alliance with Russia. A Turkish KC-135R Stratotanker would meet them before they entered Greece and refuel them.

It was important not to let the enemy get too close to Italy, which still had several active allied air bases left over from the 2011 Libya War. The air bases in Italy were mostly used for training now, but they still had allied pilots, aircraft, and live ammunition. The mercenaries couldn't spring the ambush too early or they would be close enough for Israeli jets to get involved. Greece was the place where the Americans and British were farthest away from seriously armed help.

It was also important to terminate the objectives before the Hellenic Air Force knew what was going on. Greek fighter pilots were not known for their kind and sunny disposition. They were well trained and very aggressive. It was likely that they would treat a group of heavily armed mercenaries illegally in their air space as hostiles. Krylov's orders dictated that he terminate any opposition to the mission. If the Greeks wanted to fight he was well up for the challenge.

* * *

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 0938 hours, 9:38 A.M. (Athens Time)**

**Location: 18,500 feet and steadily climbing above the Greek Island of Sifnos**

The American and British aircraft had flown over the Mediterranean and now were inside Greek air space. The flight was relatively smooth with a mostly clear sky and a bright sun. Below was the dark blue sea with multiple islands scattered about its surface. To their forward view was the coast of Greece and its mighty mountains. They had a somewhat weird formation since the Eurofighters were in a stack on the left side of the tanker and the Americans were on the right side also stacked up.

Tony decided to hook up with the tanker. His fuel was half way empty, but he still felt the paranoid urge to top off his tanks.

* * *

Krylov had the mercenaries split into two formations of four Flankers with himself leading the first formation and the other one flying closely behind. The Flankers were in tight fingertip formations practically skimming the sea surface at low altitude. He remained at the maximum range of detection for his onboard infra-red scanner: 25 miles behind the allied fighters. He had tracked them using infra-red only so as not to give away his position or let the enemy know that they were being watched.

They had flow by several harbors, ships, and Greek islands. He could see some people looking at him and his squadron, but the fact that they had seen him didn't even matter now. He planned on this operation being over before the Greeks could respond.

The elite Russian pilot looked down at one of his multi-functional displays that had a satellite map on it. He and his formation of mercenaries were well inside Greek air space. Krylov wanted to be a little further inside of Greece before he started the shooting. The Hellenic Air Force had a military base on the island of Rhodes, which they had already passed, and he wanted to be at a point that he could easily supercruise north east and to be well out of intercept range to head into the protection of Turkey. Once he reached a point that he was satisfied with he issued an order to his wingmen. "Phoenix Zero, weapons hot. They have a jammer with them. Completing the mission will be easier if that's taken out."

He increased his thrust to military power and his wingmen did the same. They began to close the distance with the enemy targets. All of the Russian-made aircraft approached the speed of sound and began to supercruise.

Krylov knew that he had a few options to kill the enemy from here. He could order his wingmen to each target a bandit and fire a salvo of active radar guided missiles. The draw back was that the enemy would be alerted the moment they were locked onto. The EA-18G Growler in the group would activate its jammers to fool the missiles. He could also order them to fire heat seeking R-77Ts, but at this range the heat seeker for the missile didn't have good target resolution and couldn't distinguish or identify the target it was heading towards. All the R-77Ts could be attracted to one target in that case and it would merely kill one bandit and alert the others to their presence.

The tactic Krylov had settled on was to order his men to fire a salvo of active radar guided missiles. Shortly after they fired he would launch an R-77P, which was a passive radar guided version of the R-77. The idea was that once the enemy was alerted to the missiles the EA-18G would activate its jammers to blind the missiles. Once it activated its jammers the R-77P would lock onto it and kill it. The rest would be a short turkey shoot from there.

One of the Super Flankers in his group was armed with wingtip jamming pods and a centerline mounted KNIRTI SAP-14 Support Jammer ECM pod, a Russian analogue to the American ALQ-99 jammer pods used on the Growler. Krylov ordered him to blast the enemy with jamming waves after the missile salvo had achieved its results.

The Su-35S featured an advanced network system that allowed it to share information with other Russian made fighters. Krylov turned on his radar and locked onto the enemy fighters. With the flip of a switch all his wingmen had the same information without needing to turn on their radars and give away their positions. They could also fire their R-77Ms without turning on their radars as Krylov designated a target for each of them.

The leader of the Russian mercenaries ordered his wingmen to fire once he was 19 miles from the targets. "Phoenix Flight, Phoenix Zero, engage the enemy."

His men fired their R-77Ms and Krylov launched his R-77P.

* * *

Suddenly everyone's radar warning gear went ballistic.

"Biscuit Eight-one, what the heck is going on?"

The first to catch wind of the situation and piece it together were Pat and Bulldog. "Shit!" Bulldog shouted when he realized what was going on. He rolled his EA-18G inverted and pulled into a split-S so that Pat could point the jammers at the incoming missiles. At the same time he released chaff and flares. Tony was still trying to figure out what was going on, but he immediately decided to follow Bulldog and stay on his wing. He put out his own chaff and flares as well.

Scorch shut off all his active scanning equipment and put his Raptor in stealth-mode. The British fighter pilots all climbed and began ejecting chaff and flare. The KC-45 tanker pilot pumped out a rain fall of chaff and flare and went into a full power climb.

Pat set the jammers to maximum power and blasted the incoming missiles. Tony followed suit and activated his defensive internal jammers. Several missiles streaked by them and narrowly missed. Tony watched as the last missile slammed into his instructor's left wing and ripped it off. The entire left side of his Growler was sprayed with shrapnel and the left engine went ablaze with flames. The AMRAAM missile on the left fuselage station was torn away and flung back, almost hitting Tony's wing as it went by.

Everything happened so fast, but an instant rush of adrenaline made things seem to slow down for Tony. The EA-18G began to slip into an uncontrollable left roll. He could hear Bulldog yelling at him over the radio. "Smoke One-one, get out of here! Get that disk to the states!" Simultaneously he selected the two AMRAAMs that were still attached to his aircraft, used the radar to lock onto the nearest contacts ahead of him, and fired. Not a moment after the AMRAAMs left his jet Pat yanked the ejection handles. The canopy was blown off. The backseater's rockets fired first as they were designed to. Pat cleared the wreck. Just as Bulldog's rockets fired a second missile closed in from ahead and hit the Growler nose on causing it to explode. Bulldog disappeared in the explosion.

"Noooo! Bulldog!"

Tony's training kicked in immediately. He went full afterburner and rolled over into a steep dive, grabbing speed in the process. A cone shaped cloud went over his aircraft as a sonic boom radiated throughout the sky. He pulled out low to the sea surface heading toward mainland Greece. The mainland was covered with mountains that would be excellent for terrain masking.

* * *

Krylov had expected the Growler pilot to dive towards them, which brought him closer and allowed him to find the mercenaries on radar despite their attempt to hide in the radar cluster of the sea surface. This forced the elite Russian pilot to fire a second missile in advance that would finish off the EA-18G completely. The Growler pilot's move immediately drew all the attention to himself and gave the other Americans and British a little more time to figure out what was going on and react to the assault. Even after the Growler pilot was hit by the first missile he locked onto two of the Su-35s and fired two missiles, both of which were easily jammed and missed their targets. The Growler pilot sacrificed himself to buy his wingmen time.

"Predictable Americans," he coldly mumbled under his breath as he watched the Growler break apart in the air through the live infra-red imaging device on his Flanker.

His wingman with the ECM jammer pod immediately blasted the enemy and cut off their communications as well as reduced their ability to use radar.

Krylov then made his infra-red scanner turn to track the enemy aircraft that had dived with the Growler. The image clearly displayed the F/A-18E Super Hornet that he was looking for. He watched as it dived to sea level to hide in the radar cluster of the water surface as it headed towards mainland Greece.

He decided to order six of his men to attack the other targets while had his number two wingman fly cover for him as he went into full afterburner and pursued the Super Hornet into the mountains. He was determined to kill that naval aviator.

* * *

Sophie immediately got on the radio and called out that she had been attacked on an emergency frequency. All she received was static. She tried to talk to her flight lead, but also received static. She flipped on her radar and saw a large blur that let her know she was being jammed.

The British woman glanced outside her cockpit just in time to see the KC-45 tanker take a direct hit in the left engine from a missile that came from the rear of the group. The resulting explosion shattered the engine and ripped the entire wing off, spreading debris everywhere in the process. This caused the large jet to slip into an uncontrollable downward left roll.

She noted that the missile came from the rear so that must have been where the enemy was roughly located.

Her training kicked in instantly and she activated her Typhoon's nose mounted PIRATE infra-red scope. Quickly she rolled inverted, kicked in maximum afterburner, and pulled into a dive.

The Typhoon pilot looked up in her cockpit and saw the flaming wreckage of the EA-18G spiraling to the earth's surface. Tony's F/A-18E was in full afterburner racing toward the mountains of mainland Greece. She saw him go Feet Dry and fly into a ravine.

Just as she looked up she spotted two missiles heading toward her. She pulled her throttle back all the way to idle in an effort to kill her heat signature and punched out chaff and flares. The first missile slammed into one of her flares and detonated. The second did the same.

As Sophie pulled out of the dive with thrust at military power she scanned the sky in front of her where the missiles came from and found eight new heat signatures only 15 miles away. Six of them were heading towards her. They were practically right on top of her! She locked her PIRATE scope on one of them and was able to see that they were Su-35S Super Flankers and there was no way that she and her remaining wingmen could take them all on at once.

The other two heat signatures separated from the rest and were moving at an incredible speed to pursue Tony into the mountains of Greece.

She decided right then and there to make it her life's priority to hold off the fighters as long as possible.

* * *

Scorch had followed the entire chain of events. He looked to his left just in time to see the KC-45 get hit and one of the British pilots pull into a dive. Right as she pulled into a dive he saw the Typhoon that belonged to her Scottish wingman get struck in the left tail pipe by a missile. The back half of the British jet was torn to shreds. The pilot pulled his ejection handle and ditched the wounded bird.

Bishop turned hard left and went around to face the enemy fighters.

The Raptor pilot turned around and went towards the contacts. He selected an AIM-9M and put his F-22's APG-77 radar into jamming mode and steered it toward the area the missiles had come from.

AESA radars were capable of switching into a powerful jamming mode that would aim and blast extremely powerful jamming waves capable of blinding enemy fighters so that he could close the distance. However, the drawback was that it built up so much heat that it would start to make the radar modules melt in a short amount of time, making the radar useless afterwards.

He knew that with Tony racing to get away, the Growler gone, and one of the Typhoons gone it was up to him and the other remaining two Typhoons to fight off the incoming six other contacts.

* * *

Tony killed the afterburners and went to military power to conserve fuel. He was still moving through the mountains at 620 knots and he needed to slam on the air brake for fear that he would not be able to maneuver in time before he slammed into the rocky mountainside. After a few seconds he retracted it.

He used a satellite to check his position and found that he was nearing Athens. The area was perfect for getting lost. He decided to fly through the mountains of Athens west to Italy. Without the Tanker he knew that he would only have enough fuel to land somewhere in or near Greece.

As he began to make a left bank toward west his RWR flared with another warning that was coming from his aft quarter. Tony looked in his rearview mirror and saw that there was the white smoke exhaust trail of an incoming missile five miles away and closing.

He quickly kicked in right rudder and banked hard right around the corner of one of the mountains. The missile tried to pull lead on him and slammed into the mountainside.

Someone was hot on his tail.

* * *

Krylov saw the target effortlessly fool his R-77M missile into the mountainside. At 9 miles distance from him the Super Hornet had disappeared into the terrain. This was going to be a chase.

The highly skilled mercenary pilot wasn't worried. There was no way that Super Hornet could hope to out run his Flanker. He and his number two wingman pulled above the mountains and banked to an intercept course. It was merely a short matter of time before he caught up.

"You're mine now."

* * *

**Red Crown: I sincerely hope that I was descriptive enough in writing this chapter. If not please let me know. Remember to review if you want me to make another chapter!**


	18. The Valley

_"I was in uniform for four years, and I know that heroism doesn't occur from taking orders, but rather from people who through their own willpower and strength are willing to sacrifice their lives for an idea."_ -Thor Heyerdahl, Norwegian Free Forces, which suffered heavily under the hands of Nazi German occupation during WWII.

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: _**"The Valley"**_

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 0955 hours, 9:55 A.M. (Athens Time)**

**Location: Low altitude over Central Greece**

Tony knew that whoever had fired on him was not going to give up that easily. They were still searching for him. If he stayed in the mountains there was a strong chance that they would never find him. However, he had another dilemma. The more time he spent weaving through mountains the less fuel he would have. He was glad that he had refueled with the tanker before the ambush happened, but he had no idea if he had enough fuel to make it to Italy without the tanker. He would need to consider landing in Greece.

Suddenly he received a satellite message. He examined the message and saw that it was a series of numbers that he could easily recognize as a radio frequency. The naval aviator set his radio to the desired ultra high frequency setting.

"Smoke One-one, this is Red Crown. Do you copy?" came a voice over the radio.

"Red Crown" was the callsign any U.S. Navy ship would use if it was commanding air forces in an area where designated hostile fighters had been confirmed. This let him know that there was a U.S. Navy ship nearby and they had already discovered that he had been attacked.

"Red Crown, Smoke One-one, I copy."

"Smoke One-one, Red Crown, I have your location via satellite. We have already contacted allies in Italy and Greece. They have been updated on your situation and will provide assistance. They've already keyed you into their IFF as a friendly. Head to the west coast of Greece. That's where they are coming from. The sooner you can get to them the sooner you will have assistance."

"Roger that, Red Crown. I'm already on it. I have an unknown number of bandits in pursuit. They ambushed us in Greek air space off the coast of Athens. Be sure to send search and rescue for friendlies."

"We cannot send search and rescue at this time. Hostile aircraft are still in the area."

Just then Tony's RWR went off again. He had been locked onto by an enemy aircraft radar that was less that 5 miles behind him. He checked his 6 o'clock and saw that there were two bandits quickly closing distance on him. Their shapes were easily recognizable as Flankers.

He hit his afterburners to try to get away, but the Super Hornet simply wasn't fast enough so he turned them back off to conserve fuel. He looked in his rearview mirror and saw a missile launch off of one of the Flankers. It didn't set off his RWR so he knew it must have been IR guided.

Quickly he punched out flares and pulled up before rolling left over a nearby mountain peak and pulling into a downward right turn. The missile lost sight of him and smashed into hard rock formations.

Right after he was sure his maneuver defeated the missile he pulled into a hard right turn through the mountains.

* * *

This terrain made missiles much less effective since the target could easily pull hard in a direction that would drive the missile's lead path into the rough landscape.

The Russian mercenary leader figured that if he fired from a closer distance the enemy wouldn't have time to maneuver and direct the missile into another Greek rock. He was already supercruising so he merely needed to follow the Super Hornet through the mountains and wait till he caught up. He flew over the mountain peek and found the Super Hornet in a hard right turn that took it into another ravine that had lush green trees at it's bottom. Krylov and his number two wingman made the turn into the ravine. Once he was at a range of 2 miles he selected another R-74ME and locked onto the American fighter.

The Super Hornet was coming closer to a large mountain that was on its left, which could have easily been used as cover. Krylov ordered his wingman to go left towards the far side of the mountain and cut off the F/A-18E once he launched his missile.

He fired his missile and his wingman headed toward the other side of the mountain where the Super Hornet was expected to end up. The American pilot made the left turn around the mountain that caused the R-74ME to pull lead and slam into it's surface.

* * *

Tony banked left around the mountain and looked up only to find that one of the Su-35s was right above him and less than a mile away, well within gun range. The Flanker pilot pulled the trigger and began firing a volley of 30mm rounds into his flight path. Tony slammed on the air brake and did a wild barrel roll that slowed him down immediately and caused all the enemy's rounds to dice the air in front of him where he would have been if he had kept his speed.

The enemy Flanker still had a lot of speed built up from supercruising in pursuit and tried to brake but couldn't slow down fast enough. The adversary went over him as well and ended up at his 12 o'clock several feet above him and one third of a mile in distance.

Tony pulled back on the stick, increased thrust, and selected his gun. The Flanker was too close for missiles and at this distance he didn't even need to use radar to aim. Frantically the enemy pilot broke into a climbing right turn to escape. Tony compensated for the move by kicking in some right rudder and squeezed the trigger. His M61A2 Vulcan howled. The American fired a line of 20mm rounds that started at the nose and ended at the tail. The pilot was dead. The machine went ablaze as it began to disintegrate. Wounded and broken the warbird fell out of the air and smashed into the hard surface below.

"That's one down. One to go," Tony said to himself.

* * *

Krylov was impressed with this American pilot. He was smart and immediately took advantage of his wingman's mistake the moment it happened.

Just then a voice came over the radio on an open channel. "This is Dagger Two-Seven of the Hellenic Air Force to unknown Flanker pilot in our air space, you will stop pursuing the American fighter immediately! We will escort you to an air base where you will surrender! Lower your landing gear if you understand."

Krylov checked his six and found that there were two Greek F-16C Block 52 Fighting Falcons 5 miles behind him at a higher altitude. The F-16Cs had a light brown and light grayish-blue paint scheme along with the white and blue roundels of the Hellenic Air Force.

The Russian was slightly surprised that the Greeks had scrambled so quickly, but he knew he shouldn't be since this operation was taking longer than he had hoped it would. He looked forward and noticed that there was a dip in the ravine that the F/A-18E went down through and followed.

His response to the Greeks was immediate. The Russian mercenary pilot selected his rearward firing R-73R and locked onto the nearest Falcon. He fired and watched as his missile darted off his wing. It went straight back and slammed into the F-16 head on in a matter of nanoseconds. The explosion punched through the nose and killed the pilot. Shrapnel sprayed down the fuselage. Pieces of broken aircraft and missile were sucked into the intake and caused the engine to erupt with flames before the wreckage tumbled to the earth.

The second Greek F-16C selected an IRIS-T, a European missile roughly equivalent to the AIM-9X Sidewinder, and fired at the intruding Russian to avenge his wingman.

Krylov pushed down on the stick and went through the dip in the landscape. He went extremely low and glanced at his altitude indicator. It read 9 meters from the ground. There were a few trees he went by that were higher than he was. The IRIS-T attempted to lead its target but instead smashed into the dip of the terrain.

The elite mercenary pilot selected an R-74ME "Archer" and used his air brake to slow down. He pulled into a cobra maneuver. While his aircraft was still moving down the ravine in pursuit of the American target he pulled his nose straight up. The air moving across his wings caused the jet to buffet and forced it upward to gain a little altitude. The force of the air pushing against the broadside of his aircraft slowed him down even more. The Russian pilot merely had to tilt his head back and look directly at the F-16C with his helmet mounted sights to achieved a lock. The moment he heard a tone he launched his Archer missile and shoved the stick down to return to level flight.

The R-74ME went straight up in the air before arching down and smashing into the Greek pilot's cockpit. An orange fireball engulfed the aircraft. Shrapnel ate at the wings and fuselage. One of the wings broke off causing the Falcon to roll over and disappear behind a mountain with its dead pilot still at the controls.

A smirk graced Krylov's lips as he kicked in the afterburners to chase after his intended target. He climbed briefly to regain altitude and was soon cruising over the mountain peaks as he followed the Super Hornet, waiting for an opportune moment to strike.

Just then his RWR sounded with a warning that indicated he had been detected by a hostile radar 21 miles ahead of him and to his right. He flipped on his own phased array radar and found the two contacts at 23,000 feet coming in from the North in a flight path that would intercept his own. The Russian slaved his infra-red scanner toward them and the image on his multifunctional display showed that they were two Greek Mirage 2000EGs.

While still keeping the position of the American target in mind he pulled into a minor climb so that he would better show up on the Mirage's radar and simultaneously selected two R-77Ms. The move baited them to come closer.

The Greek fighters changed course to move directly towards him, taking his bait. The pair of enemy jets began to close the distance faster as one of them locked onto his Flanker and fired an active radar guided missile, setting an RWR alert off in his cockpit in the process. Krylov waited once the two Mirages were at a point where he could fire his missiles and knew they couldn't safely dive to the cover of the mountains in time to escape. He steered his radar beam toward them and obtained a lock on each of them with his R-77Ms. He launched both missiles then dived back into the ravine after the American naval fighter, causing the enemy's missile to lose sight of him and hit Hellenic stones.

The Mirage 2000s punched out chaff and attempted to dive into the cover of the terrain, but before they could conceal themselves from the R-77M's radar view the missiles had already closed the distance. After a few seconds the Russian climbed out of the canyon again and glanced off in the distance to see two flashes at low altitude from his missiles hitting their targets. With that accomplished he reacquired the Super Hornet.

* * *

Tony had seen what the Flanker pilot just did through his RWR and rearview mirror. He didn't know which fact about this bandit on his 6 o'clock shocked him more: the fact that he had so easily dispatched four highly trained Greek pilots or the fact the he had done so while still maintaining his pursuit and not missing a beat. Not only was he good at multi-tasking, but he seemed to always be two steps ahead of his enemies and was easily able to adapt to a rapidly changing situation.

"Uh oh."

* * *

Sophie punched out chaff and flares and pulled into a split-S to dodge another missile that had been fired at her. She was jinking at 1,000 feet and descending. Two Flankers were hot on her trail.

Suddenly a missile struck one of the Flankers behind her. The wing was torn off the Russian-made aircraft forcing it into an uncontrollable tumble as flaming bits of wreckage separated from its body. The pilot never ejected.

Not a moment after that Flanker went down her communications came back online and the jamming ceased.

Bishop's Typhoon flew over her from her 9 o'clock and barely missed a collision with her aircraft. He was moving at a speed so fast that he looked like a blur. Two Flankers followed him in pursuit moving at a similar speed. "Sophie, get out of here! We're not going to last like this! We need to draw them away! Get ou-"

The British Flight lead never had time to finish what he was saying. One of the Flankers that was close behind him had fired a missile that slammed into his Typhoon's right side and ripped the entire right wing clean off. The right engine burned bright and the right canard snapped off soon after. He went into a violent right spiral. As if to be even more cruel, the second pursuing Flanker closed the distance even further and began firing his cannon. Bishop tried desperately to reach for his ejection handle as the G-forces in the cockpit knocked him around like a rag doll. Three 30mm rounds impacted his impaired jet. The powerful high explosive rounds shattered both man and machine, turning them into dust.

The Englishwoman's heart sank, but her mind held onto his last words. She had to draw them away.

The British pilot pulled hard right with full afterburner and made a bee-line for the mountains of Athens, dropping chaff and flare on her way to confuse any enemy attempt to lock onto her. The Flanker behind her pursued with a wolf's intent to kill. She decided to turn northward in the mountains and lead the enemy away from Tony as well as buy herself some time to think of how to win.

* * *

Scorch had managed to get behind one of the Flankers and locked on with an AIM-9M. He fired his missile and the Flanker pulled into a dive, releasing flares as it went. The dive was sharp and the missile could not keep up with it. It undershot and missed by a few feet.

Aggressively he rolled inverted and pulled lead on the Su-35S while selecting his gun. His gunsight almost reached the target when suddenly several green tracers raced by his wing.

The F-22 pilot glanced to his right and spotted another Flanker pulling lead on him and firing his gun. Scorch decided that this Flanker was now the immediate threat and broke off his attempt at a gun solution to turn inside of this enemy.

He was barely able to keep both mercenary adversaries preoccupied without leaving an opening for them to attack him with. His Raptor's outstanding agility did manage to allow him dodge their shots and remain alive.

* * *

Tony snap rolled right though the mountains. The enemy Flanker had decided to close the distance to less than a mile and was now attempting to get a gun solution on him since missiles were hard to use in the rough area.

The naval aviator could see the muzzle flash in his rearview mirror and immediately rolled inverted and jerked back on the stick. Green tracer rounds shot through the air above him and narrowly missed. He descended several feet and went extremely low to the floor of the ravine before going upright and pulling into a climbing right turn. The move caused him to slow down a great deal and came dangerously close to allowing the Su-35S to overshoot him.

The Flanker pilot immediately began to fly in a zig-zag pattern in an attempt to stay behind him. They ended up side by side and Tony aggressively rolled into his opponent. The Flanker countered the move causing them both to envelope into a rolling scissors down the ravine.

As Tony rolled with the Flanker he looked directly up at it and saw that it had a black star with the white outline of the uni-code black queen chess piece symbol centered. This pilot he was tangling with was The Red Czar! He looked at the pilot and saw a set of cold blue eyes looking directly back at him.

Victory in the rolling scissors relied on the pilot who could push his aircraft to the maximum limit of sustained flight and keep it there. One of them was bound to mess up. However, slow speeds were the Super Hornet's arena. He kept the Flanker in one spot on his canopy and maintained his roll. The Flanker pilot competitively did the same. They both continued to increase and decrease thrust as needed. As the two warriors rolled several times neither of them came closer to gaining the advantage and neither of them made a mistake. For a moment they were evenly matched.

Suddenly the Flanker pilot kicked in maximum thrust vectoring and pulled its nose right at Tony in the middle of the rolling scissors. Tony was forced to break away as the Flanker pilot opened fire and barely missed. The sharp maneuver caused the Flanker to slow down and lose altitude as the Super Hornet went forward through the ravine. The mercenary pilot quickly recovered and regained pursuit.

It was then that the American realized he had completely lost track of where he was. He took a glance down at his satellite map and found that he was somewhere farther north than he had anticipated.

Seeing as how he couldn't match The Red Czar in a dogfight even in his best element it seemed ever more important that he get out to the west coast. Quickly he found a path that went left and followed it. The Czar was not far behind.

* * *

Sophie had turned her afterburner off and was moving at an incredible speed through a forest of mountainous terrain. She checked her six and saw that there were three Flankers in hot pursuit of her. The two that had taken down Bishop must have joined the one she was trying to get away from.

Just then another person came on her radio. "Biscuit Eight-two, this is Red Crown do you copy?"

"Yes, I hear you, Red Crown."

"Biscuit Eight-two, Red Crown, I tracked you on radar with three bandits in pursuit before you went into the mountains. What's your situation?"

Just then she saw a heat seeking missile launch off from one of the Flankers.

"They're still on me! I can't talk right now!" She said as she rolled over a mountain and drove the missile into Greek stone. All three Flankers followed closely behind her.

"Biscuit Eight-two, turn east and head out to sea. Allied forces will take care of them for you."

Sophie knew that if she turned east it would lead her back out to the east coast of Greece and to open space where the three Su-35s would have her for lunch. The Typhoon pilot didn't know what else to do and her fuel was limited so she went into a hard right bank through the mountains where she came across a wide green valley that was so beautiful it took her breath away. There was a river that ran through it. Right behind the valley 4 miles away and between two large green hills were the blue waters of the Aegean Sea.

The British fighter pilot went back into full afterburner and pointed her nose between the hills. She looked in her rearview mirror and saw that two of the Flankers had launched heat seeking missiles at her. One of the Flankers had fired it directly at her. The second Flanker pilot was smarter. He pulled his nose up 60 degrees before firing his missile, which caused it to shoot up before come down in an arching turn at her. As soon as she passed through the green hills she went into a left bank that hugged the hillside. The first missile pegged into the side of the hill. The second missile went over the peak of the hill, but struck the other side as it came down. The weapon exploded and rained searing hot shrapnel all over the other side, hitting the British Typhoon with several burning metal shards. Thankfully the damage to her plane was not severe.

She reached the coast in almost no time and when she looked to her right she saw two gray hull warships a few miles out. The English pilot recognized their shapes as Hydra-class frigates of the Hellenic Navy.

Once the Flankers followed her out of the valley and over the coast the Greek warships locked onto them with RIM-162 Evolved Sea Sparrow Missiles. The warships launched multiple shots at each of them.

All three mercenaries released chaff and flares and activated internal jammers, but it was to no avail. Each of them was hit by a Sea Sparrow missile that knocked them clean out of the sky. None of the pilots made it out.

"Red Crown, Biscuit Eight-two, good hits! Bandits splashed!" she shouted with joy as she climbed and turned west. The Englishwoman checked her fuel and knew that she had enough to head deeper into Greece and maybe reach the east coast. If there was any chance that she could help Tony it was worth it, even if she ran out of fuel fighting his pursuers. The disc had to reach the states at all costs.

Sophie started a climb to reach cruising altitude when suddenly her right thigh really hurt. It was a deep sharp pain that left her frozen with shock at its magnitude. Along with the pain came a powerful sensation of heat. She looked up at her canopy and noticed that there was a hole the size of a lacrosse ball in the glass directly above her. She looked down at her thigh and saw that her flight suit was stained with blood. The stain was slowly growing bigger. At that moment she came to the epiphany that shrapnel from the last missile fired at her had pierced her canopy and landed in her upper thigh.

The British woman reached down to her thigh and grabbed the spot where the wound seemed to be. She felt a tear in her flight suit and a piece of steaming hot metal. A sudden wave of exhaustion hit her hard. She looked up at the sky before her gaze seemed to fall to her left. There she saw the beautiful green valley she had passed. Then her field of view narrowed as everything in her vision went black.

* * *

Fighting in a series of high speed turns had brought Scorch and both the Flankers down to lower altitudes. He had one Su-35S behind him and another in front of him. He fired his remaining AIM-9M Sidewinder at the enemy and watched as the Flanker ejected flares and went into a Split-S. This time the Raptor pilot had anticipated it. He snap rolled inverted and yanked back on the stick. His vectored thrust nozzles went to their maximum angle and forced his nose to point at the area the Flanker was going to come out of it's half-loop. He pulled the trigger and his Vulcan cannon roared.

His stream of 20mm rounds intercepted the Russian-made aircraft as it was ending the half-loop and clipped off the left wing, canard, and stabilizer. The mercenary Flanker fell out of control and went straight into the water below. The pilot didn't bail out.

Scorch recovered and scanned around for the remaining enemy Flanker only to discover that it was already on fire and falling out of control at his 4 o'clock high. The Raptor pilot began to get curious as to who had shot him down, but his curiosity was quickly answered when two Greek F-16Ds joined him on each wing.

"This is Dagger Two-nine to American Raptor pilot, we will escort you to our nearest air base in the west. Please follow me," said the Greek pilot.

"Dagger Two-nine, Shadow Two-five, roger," he replied as he allowed the Greeks to guide him.

* * *

Tony was finally closing in on the west coast of Greece. The Russian mercenary opened fire on him again. Tony had to roll out to dodge it. Suddenly he heard a voice over his radio.

"This is Wasp Five-five to Smoke One-one, can you give me your location?" came a voice with an accent that sounded familiar.

Tony replied instantly, "Wasp, this is Smoke, I'm three miles away from the coast and closing. I can transmit Link Sixteen." The American fighter pilot flipped a switch that transmitted his location via jam resistant Data Link 16 connection, which was commonly used by the United States and her allies.

"I got a visual on you, Smoke. Hold on a second."

Just then Tony saw two fighters dive out of the sky from his 12 o'clock. He looked closely and saw that they were Canadian CF-188 Hornets. He wasn't sure if they were inverted or not because they had the false canopy painted on the underside of their fuselage.

Both of them fired Sidewinder missiles at The Red Czar, who broke into a hard right turn and dived over a mountain causing the missiles to slam into the terrain.

The two Hornets flew over head and shortly afterward the enemy Flanker turned around and locked onto one of them. He fired a heat seeking missile and the Hornet dived in response. The Canadian pilot went below the mountains, causing the missile to lose sight and harmlessly hit Hellenic soil. His wingman banked hard left to fearlessly attack the Russian head on.

Tony looked forward and saw a large body of water. He was now going Feet Wet. As he looked to his left he saw three gray hull war ships that were roughly 8 miles away. He could easily recognize their shapes as Halifax-class multi-role frigates of the Royal Canadian Navy, each one of which was bristling with RIM-162 ESSM missiles. He looked down on the coast below him and saw that there was a road that went along the coast at the foot of the mountains. On the road was a convoy of Hellenic Army ASRAD Hellas, Humvees armed with Stinger surface-to-air missiles. The Red Czar was trapped.

The American made a left turn and went along the rocky coastline where he was well in protection of the Canadian warships, yet still able to dive in the mountains if a missile was fired at him.

"Wasp five-five, I'm spiked! I'm hit! I'm-"

Tony looked over his shoulder and saw that the Flanker had managed to get behind one of the CF-188s. Both jets were in a climbing right turn only two miles away from him. The Flanker was firing its 30mm cannon and hit the Hornet four times. The first round hit the right engine, ripping away the right stabilizer in the proceeding damage. The second round hit the right wing root, causing the right wing to separate completely. The third round detonated on the fuselage, punching a hole that went through to the other side. The last round landed smack dab in the cockpit, killing the pilot and ripping the nose off the body of the jet.

However, the CF-188 pilot had forced the Russian mercenary to climb above the concealing mountains and exposed him to the radar of the Halifax frigates. All of them locked onto the Su-35S and opened fire with RIM-162s.

The adversary rolled over and dove back into the rocky area to hide from the Canadian warships' missiles. The RIM-162s attempted to intercept him but they all hit the face of several mountains. The enemy's dive was pointed in a direction that Tony thought would lead directly to his own location.

Just then he saw the Flanker leap over a mountain only one and half miles behind him in afterburner. It fired it's last heat seeking missile at him, once again showing fierce determination to accomplish his own mission, before ducking back into terrain cover that went parallel along the coast.

Tony tried to punch out flares, but he was fresh out of them. At that moment he realized that he had been set up. In order to dodge the missile he was forced to roll over into the same mountain cover that The Red Czar was using to be concealed from ship-based radar. The move instantly put him back in front of the Russian mercenary, who kicked in maximum afterburner and closed the distance to less than a mile in what Tony could easily guess was one last desperate attempt at a gun shot. The cannon flashed as green 30mm tracer rounds danced all around his F/A-18E.

The Super Hornet pilot went into full afterburner as well and rolled back over the mountains to head out to the coast where the allies were. He looked back behind him and in a matter of nanoseconds saw the The Red Czar's Flanker doggedly fly over the rocky obstruction in pursuit.

In that split second all hell broke loose. The second CF-188, who had apparently been still following the Su-35S, finally climbed out from the mountain cover and launched two Sidewinder missiles at the Flanker. The Halifax warships launched another salvo of RIM-162s and the Hellenic Army ASRAD launchers opened fire on the Russian Mercenary.

Tony didn't think anyone on earth could determine whose missile first hit The Red Czar, but he saw the Su-35S Super Flanker burst into flames. Multiple explosions and bright flashes of light soon followed from missile after missile hitting the Russian-made warplane, breaking it down into smaller parts with each detonation. The destroyed machine was coated in fire as its remaining pieces fell into the Greek shoreline. No ejection was visible.

* * *

**Red Crown: Again I am really hoping that I was descriptive enough in writing that. If not, please let me know where and I will do my best to go back and add more detail. Remember to review if you want me to make a new chapter. By the way if I made it to 100 reviews after posting this chapter I would be REALLY happy. It would cause a massive boost in my writing engines.  
**


	19. Replacement Parts

_"Whenever you make a deal with the devil be prepared to pay twice as much as he promised you."_ -Unknown

* * *

CHAPTER NINETEEN: **_"Replacement Parts"_**

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 1034 hours, 10:34 A.M. (Athens Time)**

**Location: 15,000 feet over mid western Greece**

Sophie awoke with a slight headache. She felt entirely drained of energy and was more thirsty than a camel. When she finally became coherent she scanned her surroundings.

She was flying straight and level. The Eurofighter Typhoon had sensitive computers that could detect when the pilot had experienced a blackout. Upon detecting a blackout the computers put the Typhoon in straight and level flight and were waiting for her to wake up. The British pilot looked down at her satellite map. She was somewhere over western Greece and still heading out west. Her fuel was low.

She looked down at her right thigh to find that the metal shrapnel was still lodged deep inside of her. The bleeding had stopped. Upon closer examination she saw that the metal had been hot enough to burn her flesh closed and hold back the blood flow. The pain was still there and it was the worst that she had ever felt in her life.

"Biscuit Eight-two, do you read me? Please respond," the voice of a man with a Greek accent spoke on her radio.

She looked to her left, then her right. There were two F-16Cs flying on both her wings. Slowly she responded. "Biscuit Eight-two here, what's the situation?"

"Biscuit Eight-two, Dagger Two-three, we are here to escort you to an air base where your allies are regrouping. We've been trying to reach you for a good ten minutes now. What's your status?"

"I'm injured, but I can land. I'll follow your lead."

"Affirmative, Biscuit Eight-two."

With that Sophie grabbed the controls and allowed the Greeks to guide her.

* * *

"Wake up, merc."

Krylov awoke with a migraine of the worst magnitude. As he looked about the area he had landed down in he realized that he was near the bottom of a ravine between two large mountains. His parachute had snagged a few trees on the way down and he was dangling by the nylon threads a few feet off the ground. He could easily smell the ocean nearby. The sun was high and bright. Fresh green grass surrounded him. Small and tall trees covered the bottom of the mountains.

In front of the downed pilot were several soldiers wearing utilities with the Hellenic flag on their shoulder patches, one of which had a G3 assault rifle pointed directly at his head. "Don't make any sudden movements and come down slowly," the soldier demanded in English. Behind the soldiers were the ASRAD Humvees that had fired on his Flanker.

At first Krylov wondered how he ended up here. He felt some metal objects in his flight suit pockets. The Russian reached for the unknown devices and slowly pulled them out. He discovered that they were two small bright orange tubes. Once he saw them he instantly recognized them and his memory was quickly refreshed.

Before he had taken off he was paranoid that someone might tamper with his ejection seat. Mercenaries were supposed to be able to be used with the promise that the outside party who hired them would not be associated and could claim ignorance of their actions. If they were shot down they would have a wealth of information that could be extracted, including their employer. Because of this many governments would rig the ejection seat to not work properly if the mercenary pilot was flying into the air space of a foreign nation. This would ensure that if he was shot down he would not survive. Often this was done without the pilot's knowledge. The easiest way to sabotage the Flanker's ejection seat was to remove two trigger devices that would switch on the rockets that launched the pilot out of the aircraft. Just as he had expected, Major General Maraklov had ordered the Russian contractors to remove the two triggers from his ejection seat and replaced them with faulty triggers so that it looked like it still worked. The same thing most certainly happened to all his wingmen. Krylov had thought of this in advance long before in his career and purchased his own personal set of triggers while he was in Russia. He always kept them in his flight suit. During a maintenance check before takeoff Krylov quickly examined his ejection seat, found the faulty triggers, removed them, and replaced them with his own.

The two bright orange tubes that he currently had in his hand were the two faulty triggers which he had kept as souvenirs. He doubted any of his wingmen had survived.

When he was chasing the Super Hornet and his last attempt at a gunshot failed he knew right then that he would not complete his mission. He would be blown to smithereens if he attempted to follow the enemy after it rolled over the mountains to head out to the coast. He was also low on fuel and knew he wouldn't be able to make it to Turkey if he tried to. However, as fate would have it he was completely out of view of the enemy for a few split seconds after the Super Hornet had finished rolling over the mountain. In that short amount of time he pointed the nose of his aircraft right over the mountain in pursuit and pulled the ejection handle. The ejection went as smoothly as possible. It was most likely not visible to the enemy. His Su-35S went over the mountain to pursue the F/A-18E without him in the cockpit. As Krylov parachuted to the bottom of the ravine he heard a long series of explosions that he knew came from his Flanker receiving the full force of the Canadian and Greek air defense assault.

The impact from landing must have caused him to lose consciousness. It was safe to assume that the soldiers that stood before him now were sent by the Greeks to scout the area for remains or wreckage of the aircraft and happened to stumble across him in the tree. The Russian fighter pilot unlocked the clasps that held the parachute to his body, causing him to drop to the ground. Trying to resist these soldiers would be futile.

They quickly apprehended him and shoved him into one of the Humvees before driving to the nearest military base: Aktio Air Base.

In less than half an hour he was brought onto the base and placed in the brig. However, before he was forced inside he couldn't help but notice that there was an F/A-18E Super Hornet parked on a nearby tarmac.

* * *

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 1057 hours, 10:57 A.M. (Athens Time)**

**Location: Western Greece, Hellenic Air Force Base at Aktio  
**

Tony climbed out of his Super Hornet and stretched his extremely tired muscles. By the time he had reached the Aktio Air Base he was almost entirely out of fuel. The large air strip was on a narrow piece of the Greek mainland called Preveza. The shore and the sea was right to his west and a large body of water was to the east. Both ends of the air strip were extremely close to the shoreline. The U.S. government arranged for the Greeks to refuel him and replenish his chaff and flare dispensers for the right price. From there he was going to take off immediately and continue the flight to the states.

As they refueled his plane he took a seat on the leading edge root extension and stared off into deep thought. A lot of people had died today. Blood from many nations had been spilled: British, Canadian, Greek, Russian... not to mention that of his own country. Suddenly he felt very sick. An image kept flashing in his mind over and over. He could see the flaming EA-18G getting ripped apart repeatedly in his mind, flames constantly consuming Bulldog as he tried to ditch the flaming cockpit. Tony got off his plane and walked over to a far trashcan near the door of one of the hangers, which he then leaned over and expelled his breakfast. Even then looking at what he had eaten that morning was much more refreshing than the image that kept pulsating through his mind.

As he looked up he saw a C-17 cargo plane that had been brought in from Italy. Allied commanders that were heading the operation decided to put the IRST disc on the C-17 and have it fly to Virginia before the time that Tony made his flight. The idea was that if the Russians thought he still had the disc and he continued the flight to Virginia as if he still had the disc, then he made a perfect decoy. If there were anymore attempts by the Russians to attack him, then they would be against his Super Hornet and not the C-17.

He took a glance over at the far side of the hanger and saw that Scorch had parked his F-22 nearby. The Raptor pilot seemed angry about something and was yelling at a few Greek maintenance personnel that were nearing his F-22. It was obvious that he was trying to shoo them away. Maybe they had been trying to touch the aircraft, which Scorch knew he would be held responsible for if any special panels or things went missing from his F-22. Scorch was most likely just paranoid, but it was understandable considering what they had just been through.

The remaining Canadian CF-188 pilot had run out of fuel and also landed at the base. As his plane was being refueled Tony saw him walking in his direction. He reached into his flight suit and found a napkin which he then decided to use to quickly and discretely wipe his mouth of any vomit that was left lingering. It would be embarrassing for this to have been his first impression to another allied pilot.

As he examined the Canadian he noticed that he was of middle height. He had dark red hair, bold blue-green eyes, pale white skin, and facial features that were traditionally that of French descent. He looked as if he had a pleasant demeanor, but was obviously serious. "Hello, fellow hornet driver," the pilot greeted with a smile.

"Hi. Thanks for the save by the way. That mercenary almost had me dead for sure," Tony answered.

"I just received an order from my government to escort you. I'll be flying on your wing. My name's Chance Pitman," he said as he extended a hand, which Tony politely shook in response.

"I'm Tony Richardson. No problem. I'd be glad to have you on my wing."

The Canadian then looked even more serious. "Look, I'd like to know what's going on. Some forces from my country were conducting training with the Italians and suddenly we were told to fly into Greece and fight a faceless enemy. Now I'm told my training is going to be cut short so I can assist you. What exactly is happening here?"

Tony looked back at his jet. "I'm sorry I can't tell you if one of the intel officers didn't notify you. It's classified. We should get moving," he replied before taking a step in the direction of his jet.

"Wait," Chance said again slightly louder this time causing Tony to stop. "Today I just lost my wingman, who happened to be a very good friend. He died when we were fighting to protect you. I think I deserve to know why he's gone."

Tony couldn't help but think that Chance was right to some degree. Chance had proven he was trustworthy. At the same time Tony also knew that he owed it to him to at least give him a reason. "I'm carrying information that could potentially stop a large war from breaking out in the Middle East. The war would drastically shift the balance of power in the world and exterminate a democratic nation. There are people that want the war to happen and they are who we fought against today. I'm not going to tell you anymore than that."

"Very well." Chance nodded and it seemed to Tony that it gave him a little more peace knowing that his friend didn't die for nothing. "I've got your back then. I'll be ready to go when you are," he said before heading in the direction of his CF-188.

Scorch was refueled and Tony's F/A-18E had just finished refueling as well.

At that moment he noticed that there was a wounded British EF-2000 approaching the air strip. It looked like it had several tears and scratches in the frame from shrapnel, but no serious vital damage. He figured that they could probably refuel the Typhoon and have it continue to the flight to England as well.

Just then he noticed that the Typhoon seemed to wobble in flight as it approached ground. It lazily touched down and the pilot hit the air brakes to slow down. As the canopy was lifted Tony instantly recognized the pilot as Sophie. He was glad that she made it out, but wondered why she had made such a sloppy landing. The other Royal Air Force fighters were nowhere to be seen. He could see Scorch heading over in her direction. Tony decided that he would also talk to her to explain the plan, but as he approached her aircraft he noticed that she looked ill. The Typhoon pilot took off her helmet and had to be lifted out of her cockpit by the Greek maintenance personnel. The whole outer right leg of her flight suit was stained with blood. There was a piece of metal jammed into her upper thigh.

The Greek emergency response team arrived and put her on a stretcher. As they waited for an ambulance to arrive they began to clean the wound with the equipment they had on hand.

"Sophie, are you okay? What happened?" asked Tony.

"I lured three of them into an ambush, but one of them brushed me with some shrapnel. I'll be fine. The wound is mostly just flesh."

One of the Greek personnel then handed her a water bottle and spoke with a light accent to her. "Miss, you have lost a lot of blood and we need to get that shrapnel out of you before it becomes infected. Just stay calm. We have excellent doctors on hand. We'll take you to a hospital here in Greece, but you're going to need to stay here for a few days to recover."

Tony soon saw the ambulance come streaming across the base and stop right near their location. Just as the Greeks were about to load her inside a Caucasian man in a slick black suit with darkly tinted shades came out of nowhere and stopped them. "You can't take her with you. I have orders to take her on board the C-17," he said with a strong London accent.

"Who the hell are you?" asked Scorch.

The well dressed man pulled out a wallet that displayed his badge and an ID card. "Agent Erwin, MI6. My government just ordered me to load her up on the C-17 and take her with the disc."

Tony thought the idea was horrible. "Agent Erwin, she might get a lot worse if we don't take her to a hospital immediately," he calmly said in protest.

The British agent turned to look at him directly. "You don't understand. A Russian Akula-class submarine was spotted in the Mediterranean a few hours before you were ambushed. The sub went under and we lost it. They have the ability to deploy Spetsnaz or SVR units without being detected on shore very swiftly. In fact, our intel suggests that Russian special forces might already be in Greece right now. We think they are performing a quick clean up operation and gathering intel. If they hear that one of our pilots is in a hospital here they might raid it and take her captive. They could extract all sorts of crucial information out of her."

"Are you saying you don't trust the Greeks to protect her?"

"My government doesn't. They want us to move her on the transport right away."

"Okay then," Tony said. He looked over to Sophie. "I guess that means you'll land in the U.K. and go home. In case I don't see you again, it was an honor fighting with you," he stated before extending a hand.

"The honor is mine," she replied as she grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

The MI6 agent then interrupted. "I'm afraid you misunderstand the situation. The C-17 is not landing in England. It's heading straight for Virginia. No stops."

"That seems a little harsh," Tony stated, "It will have to fly nearly twice the distance before she can receive help. Isn't there anyway to land in England and drop her off before continuing the flight? You could also take her to another military base on the way."

If anything Agent Erwin just got more irritated. "Look, we don't know how long it will take to repair the disc and the UN Security Council vote is in two days. We must get it to Virginia as soon as humanly possible." The MI6 member then looked sadly towards his wounded countrywoman. "Even if it comes at a cost," he added.

Tony suddenly felt Sophie grab his sleeve, causing him to look directly at her and see the raw determination in her eyes. "It's fine," she said. "I'll be alright. I'm tougher than I look. I'd also rather be dead than be used by the enemy." She reached into a pocket on her flight suit, pulled out a small folded piece of paper, and placed it in his hand. "If I pass away during this trip put this in the mail. All the information is inside."

The U.S. Navy pilot took the paper and nodded. "I'll take care of it," he answered and carefully put it in his own pocket.

Agent Erwin looked at his watch. "The C-17's taking off in fifteen minutes and we don't have time to get a professional medical crew on board to watch over her. So..." The British man then turned to look at the Greek emergency crew that was handling Sophie. "How would you fine young chaps like a free and instant round trip to America paid for by the U.K.?"

Before Tony could hear their response he was tapped on the shoulder by another man dressed in a suit. "Please come with me," he said with a London accent.

Tony followed the man, who he automatically assumed was another MI6 agent. The man climbed on a small car that was acting as a base transport since the air strip was large. The driver didn't say anything as he drove across the landing strip and headed to the other side of the base.

"One of the mercenary pilots that was attempting to hunt you down ejected and survived," stated the unnamed agent. "He says that he will cooperate with us and give us the information we want on one condition."

"What's that?"

"He wants to talk with you directly."

The American Naval Aviator thought this was a strange request. Why would an enemy fighter pilot want to speak with him face to face?

The transport stopped outside a simple concrete building and Tony followed the British agent inside. He led him down several corridors and finally stopped at a prison cell, which Tony assumed was the brig. The agent opened the door to a stuffy room with no windows. Inside were two chairs facing each other, a table between them, and a bright lamp hanging from the ceiling over the table. There cuffed to one of the chairs was a tall, black haired, blue eyed Russian man that Tony recognized from the picture he was shown in Israel.

"You must be that Super Hornet pilot," the man said in English with an accent native to his Motherland.

* * *

**Red Crown: Sorry it took me little longer to update. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Review if you want me to update. Your reviews have been very helpful and have kept me inspired to continue writing! Thank you those of you that reviewed!**


	20. Face to Face

_"When we take revenge against another, we lose some of our innocence."_ Patrice Redd Vecchione, _Revenge and Forgiveness_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY: _**"Face to Face"**_

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 1110 hours, 11:10 A.M. (Athens Time)**

**Location: Aegean Sea several miles away from the Greek East Coast.  
**

Water, scattered islands, and multiple sailing boats miles away were the only things visible to Pat. She looked to her east and saw mainland Greece several miles away. Her bright green marker die had spread into the water to make it easier to find her from the air. "Great..." Pat sarcastically mumbled. "Just great."

Bulldog was dead. She was stuck out here alone. Her inflatable raft and survival gear went missing in the ejection. The Aegean Sea was known for having several species of aggressive sharks in it, including Great Whites._ "This situation sucks_,_"_ she thought.

The ejection was exhausting. It felt like having the life violently sucked out of her. She looked over to her right and thought she saw another person swimming towards her. As she squinted her eyes she could clearly see another individual wearing a flight suit and pushing himself in a small raft toward her location. "Hey, Yank, are you alive?" At that moment she recognized him as one of the British pilots, Biscuit 81.

"Yeah. I'm a little beat up, but I'm good. You?"

"I think I left the tea I drank this morning somewhere at 5,000 feet," he replied as he pulled up beside her.

Pat laughed briefly at his response. At least she was stuck with a person that had a sense of humor. "Search and rescue should be on their way. We should just sit tight. I'm sure they know where we are already."

"I never properly introduced myself to you last time. My name's Scott Herger by the way." He quickly helped the American woman into his raft.

"Patricia Ironheart. My friends call me 'Pat,'" she replied.

Suddenly they both spotted a white and blue cutter-type motor boat heading in their direction. As it closed the distance they were able to see that it had the Hellenic Navy Flag on it and there were several individuals inside wearing camouflage utilities. The boat pulled up beside them and one of the personnel extended a hand to invite them aboard.

"There you are. What took you so long?" Scott said as he took the hand and was helped aboard.

"Thanks," Pat said as she climbed aboard herself, not sure if they knew English.

To her amazement one of the crew replied with a Russian accent, "Not a problem."

That was the last thing she heard before a blow to the back of her head knocked her out cold.

* * *

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 1122 hours, 11:22 A.M. (Athens Time)**

**Location: Western Greece, inside the brig of the Hellenic Air Force Base at Aktio**

"You must be The Red Czar," Tony said to the mercenary pilot.

"Is that what you Americans are calling me these days?"

Tony took a seat in the chair opposite of the Russian. He felt slightly strange sitting face to face with a person that had been trying to kill him mere moments ago. "That's what we called you in Sudan. What do you want with me?"

The Russian briefly smirked. "I just wanted to meet the man who I fought today. You are a very capable pilot."

"I'm still not as good as you. I was fighting at my absolute limit and was barely staying alive," Tony replied as he looked Krylov in the eyes. His opponent's eyes were cold and devoid of any feeling or emotion.

"My name's Sergei Krylov," the Russian stated.

"I'm Tony Richardson."

"Tell me, Tony Richardson, why do you fight? What is it that motivates you?"

_That's an easy question_, Tony thought. "I want to do the right thing and save innocent lives."

"Is that what you think you're doing? I'm sure the thrill of war has nothing to do with it."

"I admit I enjoy the adrenaline rush, but I don't like seeing innocent people or my friends die and I'll do everything I can to stop it."

"So how many people do you think you will need to kill before that goal is accomplished?"

"I don't know," Tony responded before briefly pausing to think it over. "But I'll take on as many as I have to."

Krylov smirked with amusement at Tony's words. "You are more naive than I thought you'd be. You have a worthless cause."

"And killing for money is a better one?" he fired back.

"No, the money's just a bonus. Revenge is the only ideal purpose."

"Revenge? What for? I know that you lost your mercenary squadron in Sudan several years ago. Is that what you're bitter about?"

The look on Krylov's face slowly went back to a cold emotionless stare. "You wouldn't understand."

"Then tell me and make me understand."

The Russian looked at the American across from him and directly into the brown piercing eyes he had. He could see that this U.S. Navy pilot was serious. He thought it over for several seconds in silence before deciding to reply. "It would be a waist of time if I told you everything. My comrades in Sudan died like mercenaries should die, without dignity or honor. You Americans were the ones that killed them. When your forces stealthily flew into Sudan you attacked all the training camps from the radical terrorists. My squadron defended them as part of our contract, but they were all wiped out. None of us had been expecting to encounter forces from your country. We didn't even know that those training camps belonged to Al-Qaeda. The Crimson Hammers were killed because you Americans felt you had been wronged by terrorists and had the right to take it out on anybody who got in your way. If anyone likes to kill for revenge it's your country."

"Avenging 3,000 innocents murdered for no good reason isn't something I would call unjustified. Those camps had people that were responsible."

"You think that you're a fighter for justice then? I know from experience that there are no such things as white knights in this world."

"Well, you don't know me. I must believe that what I am fighting for is right and that I can make good decisions that save lives. Without that hope everything that me and my country stand for is worthless and we really would become savages."

Krylov smirked again. "I think secretly you enjoy killing. If you don't now then you will soon. You can call it an adrenaline rush or whatever you like but it's the same thing. Trying to moralize it in your mind is a useless waist of time."

Tony remained silent. He didn't know what to say to that and somehow the thought of simply saying, "You're wrong," just didn't quite do the job.

The mercenary spoke again. "I've heard it said that one of the truest ways to tell a man's strength is by war. You should know that the only difference I see between you and your friends is that your friends died easy. They died like cowards."

A flare of anger shot through Tony's mind at those words. He remained still and slowly clenched his fists. It took all his will power to hold himself back from leaping across the table and hitting Krylov in the face.

When that didn't do anything the Russian continued. "You're friend who piloted the Growler, it was my missile that killed him. You should also know that I enjoyed watching him burn."

Tony's breathing began to increase as a furious rage began to fill his mind. He noticed Krylov steal a glance at one of the pieces of gear on his flight suit. Tony subconsciously reached his hand where Krylov was looking and felt the grip of the M9 Beretta pistol that came with his survival gear. He had forgotten that he had it on him. The Greek security guards didn't even search him, most likely because he was with the MI6 agent. The British agent either neglected to tell him to take it off or was relying on the security guards to remove it. At that moment Tony wondered if the Russian was trying to get him to use it in anger, maybe to prove his point. This thought caused Tony to cool his temper down.

At the same time he realized something unique about this Russian pilot: he literally didn't care whether or not he lived or died at any moment in time. He was perfectly okay with being shot right then and there merely to prove he was right. In Krylov's mind, nothing was worth living for except revenge and the thrill of war. It was scary to think that such a person even existed.

Slowly the American pilot pushed himself away from the table, stood up, and walked out of the cell. As he was leaving he heard Krylov say, "Give it time. Deep down you'll soon find that you're just like me."

This time Tony didn't care if a simple response sounded stupid. "No, I'm not!" he strongly replied before leaving to go back to his aircraft.

As he walked away Krylov thought to himself, _"What a naive fool. __Even as I looked into his eyes I could see the stains of shock from violence growing in the back of his mind. __He will soon see the truth though. __War taints everything and everyone it touches. "_

* * *

**Location: At the far end of the Aktio Air Base  
**

Near the edge of the airstrip several shadowy figures swam up to the shore. They rose to the surface and the sunlight stroked their automatic rifles and dark camouflage. Two large dark shapes approached the shore after the men. They were distinguishable only by two large snorkel tubes that kept a flow of air down to the crew. They both rolled onto the shore and revealed themselves to be BMD-4 armored amphibious vehicles. Each one was armed with a 100mm main gun, a 30mm auto-cannon, and a 7.62mm machine gun. These ones had been specifically modified to move beneath the water surface instead of on top of it to remain stealthy.

Slowly they rolled right over the fence that surrounded the air base and made their way onto the airstrip.

* * *

The C-17 had already taken off the runway and turned to its flight course. As it was leaving Tony looked across the airstrip at the damaged EF-2000 that Sophie left behind. He started to worry about her. Quietly he said a prayer for Sophie that her condition would not get any worse than it already was and that she would make a speedy recovery.

As he climbed into his cockpit he began to wonder if what Krylov said about him was right. When he had fired the first shot at the reactors in Iran he felt terrible for killing the SA-21 operators, but every person after that was different. Tony couldn't help but notice that every time he had killed someone he felt an increase in adrenaline. Did he really enjoy killing another human being? Maybe the adrenaline spike was just from the excitement of the moment. Only monsters took pleasure in extinguishing human life. In any case, the thought of becoming the very thing he hated the most terrified him.

He decided to put the thought away for now and began to power up his Super Hornet. He looked over to the other side of the tarmac right across from him and saw that Scorch was in his Raptor, already powered up and ready to go. Chance Pitman was in the process of closing the canopy of his CF-188. He gave Tony a thumbs up showing he was also ready. All three fighters taxied to the runway together.

Just then he heard a loud popping sound and suddenly saw one of the hangers erupt in flames. An equally loud repetitive thumping soon followed. It seemed to come from a high caliber automatic weapon. Several Greek F-16s and F-4 Phantoms that were lying on the airstrip were destroyed by incoming fire. He stared at the damaged remains in disbelief for a moment before realizing that whoever was firing was deliberately aiming for aircraft and could easily be the same people trying to destroy the disc. Tony went into full afterburner and clawed for speed as he moved down the runway. As he pulled back on the stick and began to lift off he saw at the far end of the runway were two vehicles that looked like small tanks and several heavily armed troops.

As Tony's nose went up he heard the sound of multiple impacts from small arms fire smashing into the outer frame of his Super Hornet. Right as his wheels left the ground the tank fired it's gun and the shell flew underneath him, missing by inches. All the allied fighter pilots pulled back on their sticks and went into a steep climb before turning to make a course for Italy. A KC-10 Tanker was already on its way toward them to assist them with fuel.

"That was close," Scorch said over the radio.

Tony looked at both his escorts and saw that each had multiple bullet wounds in their jets. Immediately all of them did a damage assessment and made sure that no one was leaking fuel or hydraulic fluid. Once they felt that they were okay they decided to continue the flight.

"I guess in a negative way it's good that they attacked us. That means they still think we have the disc," Tony replied.

* * *

Krylov wondered what was going on outside. He heard people shouting orders in Greek and a lot of gunfire. All of it was getting louder, which meant that it was coming towards his location. In a short matter of time he no longer heard the Greek voices, but instead heard Russian speakers shouting to each other. The only gunfire that was audible was now far away. Soon the voices were inside the building and right outside his cell.

"We've come for Sergei Krylov!" shouted one individual in perfect native Russian.

"I'm right here," Krylov responded.

Suddenly the door to his cell was blown open. On the other side stood twelve heavily armed men. They had the latest Russian equipment and excellent camouflage. One of them stood forward. "Are you Krylov?"

At this moment Krylov thought they were Spetsnaz, but he still wasn't sure. "Da," he replied. "Who are you?"

"We don't exist," replied the soldier.

_"They're definitely Spetsnaz,"_ the Russian pilot thought. He assumed that the Major General wanted him dead and was planning on taking him out with help from special forces since Krylov knew too much information about Russia's operations. The Russian ace nonchalantly said, "If you're here to kill me and tie up a loose end then get it over with already. I hate long good byes."

"We are not with Major General Maraklov. We came under the Prime Minister's orders. Your progress was being monitored by one of our satellites. You need to come with us immediately. The Prime Minister thought you'd survive and he has an offer for you."

Just then another soldier spoke. "Sergeant, our time is up. The Greeks have mobilized their local defense forces and are heading this way. They'll be here in twenty minutes. We need to move."

"Go. We'll meet up at the next waypoint."

Half of the men separated and went somewhere that Krylov did not know of.

Curious about what was in store for him the Russian fighter pilot went with the armed men from his Motherland. They discretely took him out of the brig and back to the shore before hopping into a raft that lie covered in the rocky tide. As they were leaving Krylov saw some of the men rig explosives to their BMD-4s that they left behind. As they had been trained to do so they destroyed their vehicles and disappeared further into Greece.

From there the group went far out into open waters where an expensive civilian yacht awaited their arrival. Once they were on board the captain of the ship, who was being held at gun point, turned the boat toward a course that would lead to the Island of Crete and gave the engines max throttle.

"What an interestingly convenient way to acquire transportation," Krylov joked to one of the soldiers.

"We originally came in a submarine, but the captain would need to resurface to recover us. He refused to do so for fear of giving away his location a second time. We figured this would be a much less attention gathering exit anyway. Our primary mission objective was to seize or destroy the aircraft that held the disc with a second phase that consisted of assessing the aftermath of the air battle and taking captive any pilots that had survived. There is a plane waiting for you on Crete that will take you back to Syria. I've been told to give you this if we found you alive." The Spetsnaz operative handed him a satellite phone before leaving to check on his men.

The Russian ace held the phone to his ear. "Krylov here. Who is this?"

"I'm glad you made it out alive, Senior Lieutenant," replied the voice of the President of Russia, Sergei Chemezov, much to Krylov's surprise.

"Yes, Mr. President. May I ask to what pleasure do I owe this call?" Krylov asked.

"Major General Maraklov."

"What about him, sir?"

"He has had a string of humiliating failures that have had steep costs for Moscow," began Chemezov. "The most notable of these are his failure to protect the Iranian nuclear reactors, his failure to terminate his traitorous daughter, and lastly his failure to eliminate any and all evidence pertaining to our involvement with the incidents of smuggled nuclear weapons."

"What do you want from me?"

"I have a proposition for you. I believe that you would perform his job better than he is conducting it right now. I have read everything on your files and you seem to be a most capable candidate. Here in Moscow we have already decided to fire the Major General. I want to replace him with you. However, he knows far too much about our current operations and to simply let him go is not possible. He needs to be cleaned away from the picture. Once he is gone you will be promoted to his rank and assume his command. Do you understand?"

Krylov thought the decision over for a moment. The idea of getting back at Maraklov was delicious, but taking over his job was an extremely large task that he had little experience with. Krylov was an extremely skilled tactician when it came to fighting and commanding armed forces, but the administrative stuff was a nightmare. He really didn't want to deal with all that paper work and much rather preferred to just fly his plane and fight the enemy. It would be foolish to take a job that he didn't know how to do to its full capacity and displease the president further when he failed at it. "Mr. President, I can advise you well in war, but I am ill equipped to do the administrative part of Maraklov's job. There are several complex parts of it that I simply have no experience with and would find very troublesome."

"I thought you might say that. I already planned to send you a personal secretary who is well versed in his job. The secretary will take care of all the paper work for you. You will only need to focus on matters of war."

Now it had just become Krylov's dream job: the rank and command of a general with none of the petty irritants and a personal secretary to dump all the unpleasant work on. On top of all that as a Major General he could do all the flying and fighting he wanted since he had power and access to a vast amount of the Russian Air Force's resources. "Consider it done, Mr. President."

"Good. Contact me with this phone at this number when the task is finished, Major General Krylov," came the response.

* * *

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 1022 hours, 10:22 A.M. (Tel Aviv Time)**

**Location: Hospital in Israel  
**

Nathan got up from his bed and was helped by nurses into a wheel chair. As per his orders he was to be put on a civilian airliner that would take him back to the U.S. to be properly debriefed. The moment he was comfortable in the wheel chair he heard Vanya call his name. He asked the nurse handling him to roll his chair over to her in the recovery room and push the curtain back.

"What is it Vanya?" he asked. It was a relief to for him to see that Vanya looked a lot more healthy than she had earlier this morning.

"Nathan, there is something I must tell your government. It involves a project that I was working on two years ago that had something to do with your satellite system. The SVR shut me out of the information circle after I completed my part, but I just realized that the time for it to be carry out is too opportune for the political climate that my President is creating. Who can I contact?"

"I don't know, but I'll find out as soon as I can."

Just then the same U.S. intelligence officer that had debriefed him last night walked into the room from the doors on the other side. He had two Israeli nurses with him. Nathan couldn't help but notice that the officer made a gesture towards Vanya when he was talking with them.

As soon as they reached them the nurses began removing the IV needle from Vanya and started preparing to move her.

"What's going on, sir?" Nathan asked the officer.

"You and me are flying back to America. I just received an order to take her with us. Apparently it's not safe for her here," he replied.

Vanya quickly interrupted, "Listen, I need to tell your government about something I was working on two years ago."

"You can tell us once we're on the plane."

* * *

**Red Crown: Guys, I've got some bad news and some good news. The bad news is that I am slowly approaching the point in my writing that I had this story planned out. I didn't think I would make it this far. The good news is that I love it and am going to keep writing it, but soon there will come a point when not even I will know where it is going to go. I had a large test on a class I'm taking which is why it took me longer to update. ****Thank you those of you that reviewed. ****Remember to review if you want me to make a new chapter! Your reviews give me more motivation to write!  
**


	21. Memories

_"America's fighting men and women sacrifice much to ensure that our great nation stays free. We owe a debt of gratitude to the soldiers that have paid the ultimate price for this cause, as well as for those who are blessed enough to return from the battlefield unscathed."_ -Allen Boyd

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: _**"Memories"**_

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 1644 hours, 4:44 P.M. (Damascus Time)**

**Location: Syrian Air Force base, northwestern Syria**

The Russian ace pilot walked back onto the base without any problems with security or clearance. He began to quickly look for the Major General and soon found him huddled over a table inside one of the hangers. The table had several maps and papers on it and Krylov was certain that he was planning his next move. Maraklov seemed completely absorbed in his work.

Before the Russian fighter pilot properly fired Maraklov he decided to have little fun with him. Krylov walked over to the edge of the table and reached in his pocket to pulled out the two faulty triggers. He slowly rolled them across the table over to the Major General. Once they came into his sight the Major General's eyes widened with surprise. He looked at the edge of the table and his eyes met the cold blue gaze of his former friend, who quickly unveiled an MR-444 handgun and leveled it at the Major General's chest before promptly pulling the trigger. The muzzle flashed and the gun snapped. Maraklov felt the impact and collapsed on the ground as the empty shell casing landed at Krylov's feet with a defined pinging sound.

"You made two mistakes, Major General," Krylov began as he walked along the side of the table to stand over Maraklov directly. "First, you underestimated me. Secondly, you failed Moscow." With that said he fired two more rounds into the Major General that ended him.

Shortly after the task was complete he reached down and took the rank insignias off Maraklov's uniform before stuffing them in his flight suit. The newly promoted Major General pulled out his cell phone and contacted his president. "It's done, sir," he reported.

"Good. You're secretary will be arriving shortly. I'll contact you with your new orders in a matter of hours," came the reply.

"What about the disc? It is still on its way to America."

"Forget the disc. Moscow is done with using up resources on that. We are certain that we can achieve our objective without it anyway." The president hung up.

Krylov looked over to the air strip and saw an An-74 cargo aircraft in the process of landing. He watched as it slowed to a halt before the ramp was lowered down. Much to his surprise only one person got off the plane. It was a single woman with a binder in her hand.

She was wearing a dark grey woman's suit with a short skirt. She had long flowing light brown hair. Her light brown hazel colored eyes were viewing him behind a pair of narrow silver framed glasses. She was of Ukrainian descent and had strong Slavic features. In all practicality she could have easily passed for a supermodel. Her beauty made all the Syrian crewmen nearby stop what they were doing and stair wide eyed at her.

Krylov was surprised. _"Was this his secretary?"_

The woman walked up to him with a military ID and a name tag that designated her as "Lena Studilina." She extended a hand and gave him a bright smile. "Major General Krylov, I am your secretary. You may call me 'Lena,'" she said.

The Russian pilot didn't say anything. He merely shook her hand. Her smile vaguely reminded him of Natasha and it was this that stunned him.

A few moments of awkward silence passed before Lena opened her folder. "What would you like me to work on first, Major General?"

Krylov responded with the first and only thing on his mind. "I need a new plane."

* * *

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: Unknown**

**Location: Unknown**

Pat was awoken by the sensation of ice cold water being splashed in her face. Her hands were tied by a strong rope that was connected to the ceiling and had her dangling just high enough for her heels to touch the ground. She had no idea where she was. The room was very dark and devoid of windows. Metal walls surrounded her entirely. The only light that was available was from the next room with an open door. She could also feel that she was in motion as if she were on an aircraft or a vessel. It was then that she remembered what had happened after she ejected. Her eyes snapped wide open and she looked ahead of her to find four shadowy figures standing in front, all of them speaking to each other in Russian. One of them stepped forward.

"Listen, American, you will tell me all the information you have. I will ask you questions and you will give me answers. If you refuse then me an my friends here will cause you a lot of pain and you will end up like him." The man grabbed her head and forcefully turned it to her left.

There in the shadows she saw Scott Herger laying on the floor. The British pilot's face was red with blood and he was holding his arm, which she noticed was bending in a position that led her to believe the bones were broken. The front of his flight suit was covered in his own vomit and she couldn't help but see that some of his vomit consisted of blood as well. His eyes seemed dazed as if he had been drugged with something. He was still breathing though.

"Everyone has a breaking point. I found you friend's limit. It's only a matter of time before I find yours."

Pat immediately feared what would happen next. "Are you going to rape me?"

"If you force me to, but I think you might like that too much," the man replied with a perverse smirk.

"I only know as much as he did. It'd be a waist of your time trying to question me," she said in an effort to talk her way out of it.

The man slammed the back of his fist across her face, causing her head to jerk in reaction. "Your lying!"

Two of the men approached her and held her head still. The last one pulled out a needle and approached her from behind. He inserted the needle slightly to the right of the back of her neck. An intense piercing pain shot through her skin at the point of penetration. She didn't know what kind of drug they put in her, but she felt the effects immediately. It felt like a dull, irritating, agonizing sensation that started at her neck before spreading to her head and down her spine. When it had completely consumed her body the needle was pulled out.

"That is a new type of drug developed for the FSB," the man said. "It causes extreme physical pain and invades your mind. It will bring you back to the worst emotional or mental state that you have been in your life and hold you there until it wears off."

Pat wanted to scream. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The pain lasted for twenty minutes that seemed like an eternity. During that twenty minutes several images from her past flashed through her mind, images that she had long tried to forget. She saw a burning house, herself as a teenage girl staring in a mirror with blood dripping down from her hairline, heavily armed Chinese troops lining people up along a wall and shooting them execution style. A group of People's Liberation Army tanks and armored vehicles storm through a town in the night with their heavy guns blazing, ripping apart everything and everyone that fell into their sights. Lastly, she saw an image of a soldier running up to her and hitting her hard in the face with a rifle. The moment Pat was hit she slipped out of the hallucinations.

"Are you ready to talk yet?" one of the men asked. Meanwhile his friend with the needle was preparing another dose of the drug.

"Wait! I'll tell you anything you want to know! Really!" she said as she began to get desperate. If she told them a bunch of lies then it would at least buy her some time. She hoped Scott had done the same thing.

"That's more like it," he responded.

At that moment Pat could have sworn she saw a shadow move by the light of the next room. Just then she heard the sound of a suppressed automatic weapon discharge. All four of the men fell to the ground. A team of soldiers wearing all black with an assortment of tactical gear stormed into the room. Their faces were hidden by heavy gas masks with tinted goggles.

"Four hostile's down. This room's clear," one of the soldiers said in a high whisper. "I think I have the pilots here too."

Another rough voice replied over the radio on his shoulder. "Secure the objectives and bring them to the evac point."

Pat remained silent with surprise. One of the soldiers approached her with a knife and started cutting at the rope that held her in place.

"Who are you?" asked the woman pilot.

"Special Boat Service," replied the soldier with a British accent.

The soldier finished cutting her rope, but Pat hadn't balanced herself for the sudden release of her hands and fell. The soldier moved at lighting quick speed to catch her by the wrist and help her on her feet. "United Kingdom Special Forces, miss. We were nearby when both our governments contacted us. The Greek cutter that the Spetsnaz stole had a tracking device on it for the Hellenic Navy. We were able to find that it had moved near this ship. Are you in need of a ride out of here?"

"As if you have to ask," Pat replied. She then watched as Scott was helped to his feet by two of the SBS operatives. "How badly are you hurt?" she asked.

"I've seen better days. I didn't tell them a single thing that was true," he replied with a smile.

Pat laughed. "It's a good thing you told your lies before I did. If they had questioned us both at the same time and our stories didn't match up we would have been in a lot of trouble."

"I would laugh with you, but it hurts to move," he replied.

Just then one of the soldiers interrupted. "We've cleared the ship entirely. Follow me."

The soldiers took them both up several flights of stairs. As they continued to climb up the stairs Pat noticed a light that was coming closer and closer to her as she reached the top. The stairs led to an exit. She could feel the wind blowing across her face. The scent of the ocean was strong. Her eyes finally adjusted to the light and she could see that she was on an old oil tanker. From the position of the sun it looked like it was sometime in the afternoon. Water surrounded her and there was land to her front. A single _Astute_-class submarine of the Royal Navy was on the surface of the water following behind the port side of the tanker.

"We need to move," the soldier said as he led them to the port side of the ship.

From there she went down a rope to a light gray motorized raft. The SBS operatives kicked the motor into high throttle and made their way to the submarine.

* * *

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 1210 hours, 12:10 P.M. (Washington D.C. Time)**

**Location: 27,000 feet over the Eastern Coast of the United States**

Much to everyone's surprise and relief the flight to the United States was uneventful. From the air Virginia looked green with several rivers running through it and had urban areas scattered about it's land. It looked like heaven compared to all the desert and rock that Tony had grown accustom to seeing for the past few days.

"Mission completed," Tony said with an exasperated sigh. Finally the operation he was a part of had come to a finish. Hopefully he could get some serious R&R from a senior officer, but he thought it would be unlikely. He had really only been in combat for a few days, but those days seemed like months.

"And it all ends in my home state," Scorch said.

"Virginia is where you grew up then?" asked Tony.

"Yeah, I'll have to show you my favorite bars and places to hang out while we're here."

In no time at all an air traffic controller directed them to Langley Air Force Base, which was closest to the Lockheed Martin plant that manufactured the disc. The KC-10 landed first, then Chance, and Scorch. As Tony was landing he looked off to the side of the airstrip and spotted a C-17 that might have been the same one carrying Sophie and the disc.

Once he landed he went over to the C-17 and found the Greek emergency crew that had been asked to watch over Sophie during the flight. The crewman said that she seemed fine when he last saw her. From the crewman he discovered that an ambulance and a government agent with a sports car were waiting on the landing strip when they arrived. The disc was given to the government agent who immediately hopped in the sports car and went speeding towards the Lockheed plant. Sophie was loaded in the ambulance and sent to a nearby hospital.

Most of the F-22 fleet that was usually stationed at the air base was deployed elsewhere. As a result the pilots, aircraft, and crew were gone. Tony was assigned to one of the several rooms that they had available on the base. The flight was exhausting so Tony immediately went to the room he was given and collapsed on his bed. As he rested he wondered how Pat was doing. He hoped that the search and rescue got to her in time before the sharks did. Soon he was too tired to think about anything. For the next couple of hours he planned to sleep like a rock. Rocks are hard, rocks are dense, and rocks do not move.

* * *

**Time: 2010 hours, 8:10 P.M. (Washington D.C. Time)**

The sky was dark with a hint of light since the sun had set only an hour ago. Scorch entered the mess hall. Dinner was being served and he was starving. He grabbed a plate of chow before taking a seat at one of the many empty chairs at one of the many empty tables.

Tony came in shortly after him. He also grabbed a plate of chow and sat down at the same table a few seats away from Scorch. They both ate in silence. After a few moments Scorch looked over at Tony and noticed that he still seemed tired. The U.S. Navy pilot had small bags under his eyes. The fact that he had been heavily jet lagged was obviously a part of his exhaustive state, but he could have sworn he saw Tony leave to his room to get some sleep.

Sleep deprivation was a terrible thing for anyone so he decided to let Tony know in the best way that he knew how to. "You look like shit."

Tony looked back at him with slightly tired eyes. "I know."

"Why didn't you go to sleep?"

"I just didn't," he replied. "I'm fine."

"Anyway. I know a really good bar that I plan on going to tonight, in case you were interested. I mean we just came back alive. We might as well celebrate."

Tony thought it over for a minute. He rarely ever drank, but this time it seemed appealing to him. He guessed it was one of those side effects to being in combat. He decided that he wanted to have only one drink of bitter scotch in honor of Bulldog. "Sure, I'll go," he replied.

At that moment Chance walked in the mess and grabbed a plate as well. As he sat down Scorch invited him to join them at the bar, which he agreed as well.

Outside the window they could see the head lights of a bus arriving on the base. They wondered exactly who was arriving, but their curiosity couldn't win against the powerful urge to eat. They decided to worry about it at another time and merely sat at the table and continued to eat. A few minutes later the main doors to the mess hall opened and another individual entered. It wasn't long before they recognized her as a blond woman wearing a blue jogging suit and using crutches to enter the mess. "Do you actually have any food around here?" she asked with a British accent that allowed them to immediately recognize her as Sophie. Her leg seemed okay, but not much could be seen behind the jogging suit.

"Hey, you made it!" Tony said with a smile. He pointed to the stand full of trays. "The trays are over there. You're welcome to grab a bite and take a seat."

She headed over to the trays, but found it difficult to get one of them and balance herself on her crutches at the same time. Once Tony saw the difficulty she was having he got up from his seat and carried everything for her. "Thanks," she said.

When they sat down and continued eating Sophie looked over to him and asked, "Do you still have that note that I gave you?"

"Yeah." Tony reached into his pocket, pulled the small piece of paper out, and returned it to her. "Is your leg okay?"

"Yes, I just lost a lot of blood. The doctor said I should be able to fly again as soon as the wound heals. They had to dispose of my flight suit though and a nurse gave me this jogging suit. I'll be on crutches for a little while."

After they had finished eating, all of them changed into dark blue U.S. Air Force jogging suits, which were the closest thing on base that they could find to civilian clothes. Scorch called a taxi to head out to the bar. Sophie also decided to go, but said that she would only have one drink.

They soon arrived at the bar in the town, which they discovered was called _The Ram's Head_. They each entered. The inside looked like a classy log cabin. Several people in the bar were very active and talkative. The instrumental for Metallica's song "The Unforgiven" was playing on the speakers in the background. The group of pilots sat down behind the counter, which was curved in an oval shape in the center of the room. Tony ordered one small glass of bitter scotch. Sophie who was sitting next to him asked for one small glass of pale ale. Chance took the seat on the other side of Tony and asked for a Blue Moon. Scorch sat next to Chance and requested a Long Island Iced Tea.

Tony held up his scotch in an imaginary toast to Bulldog before taking a sip. He cringed his face at the extremely revolting taste. _"People actually drink this stuff?"_ he thought. He might spend a long time sipping the drink until it was finished and decided this would be the only drink he would have tonight.

"Wow, this is terrible," Sophie said as she put down her ale.

"Why did you get one then?" asked Tony.

"This was Bishop's favorite drink. I thought I might drink one in his honor. I can't believe he liked these," she responded.

"Funny," Chance said, "That's the exact same reason I'm drinking this Blue Moon for my wingman."

"Same here for my instructor," Tony added. He then held his drink up and proposed a toast by saying, "For our friends who aren't here now."

They clanged their glasses together in the center, Scorch included. Neither of them knew much about Scorch's past deployments, but he never said anything and they never asked him.

Just then the bar tender put another drink down in front of Sophie. "That's from the gentleman over there," said the bar tender as he nodded towards the far end of the counter.

Sophie looked over and saw a handsome man in a leather jacket with a slick comb over hairstyle. He gave her a wink and was obviously trying to make a move on her. The English woman merely looked away from him and slowly pushed the drink away from herself. "No thanks. I'm not interested," she told the bar tender.

Just then the man in the leather jacket got out of his chair and walked over to her. He put a hand on the counter near Sophie. "Hey, babe, I can show you a really good time if you come with me tonight."

Sophie pretended that he didn't even exist. Instead, she took another sip from her glass and tried to provoke a conversation with Tony by asking, "So what's your hometown like?"

Tony was slightly unsure of what to do and was wondering how Sophie was going to react if the man pressed on. He went along with it anyway. "It's nice. The weather's always perfect," he merely replied.

The man in the leather jacket was slightly surprised at being completely ignored, but then continued, "Okay. You want to play hard to get. I see how it is." He then gave her a pat on the butt. Tony could see a hint of furious anger on Sophie's face.

The Englishwoman slowly put her drink back down on the table and turned towards the man. In one swift move she thrust her elbow into his face. The man with the comb over went down like a sack of bricks and held his face groaning in pain. The other pilots watched slack-jawed.

"As justified as that was I think we need to leave now," Scorch said.

"Why is that?" asked Sophie.

"This is a good bar, but it has very um... 'spirited' drinkers. If you punch a guy you might start a-"

"BAR FIGHT!" shouted someone across the room and punched the man next to him. The pilots all watched in disbelief as one by one each of the men and even some of the women in the bar put down their drinks and picked a fight with the person nearest to them for seemingly no apparent reason. As fists flew and furniture broke they all looked at the bar tender, who very calmly picked up a phone and dialed the police. When the authorities answered the call the pilots could hear him say, "Hey, Frank, it's me. It's happening again... Yeah, I know. It's the third time this week."

Quickly the pilots all gathered their things, grabbed their drinks, and speedily went for the exit. They ended up having to literally fight their way through the crowd and out of the _The Ram's Head._ After punching and kicking the people between them and the main doors they finally made it outside. The group ran across the street and kept going as the sound of distant sirens filled the air.

Scorch quickly found a pay phone and dialed another cab once they were far away from the bar.

"That was crazy," said Chance as the group finally stopped to rest.

"That was nothing. I've seen worse in England," Sophie added with smirk.

* * *

**Date: August 20, 2015**

**Time: 2227 hours, 10:27 P.M. (Washington D.C. Time)**

**Location: 25,000 feet over the Atlantic**

Nathan, Vanya, and the intelligence officer were on a civilian air liner. However, they had received permission to close off the First Class area for their discussion.

"That's serious," the intelligence officer said. "Do you think the Russian's would really do that. It's a pretty bold move. If they did that the political backlash would be immense."

"Nothing would stand in their way if they succeeded," Vanya replied. "A vast majority of your military capabilities would be useless."

"I'll need to notify my government as soon as possible."

"This just got really interesting," said Nathan. "If we can't stop them then they really could become the dominant power on the planet if they wanted to."

* * *

**Red Crown: I just got an idea of where I want this to go next. I'm very excited about how this will turn out. Please review. You will see my ideas sooner if you review!**


	22. Dreams and Nightmares

_"History teaches that wars begin when governments believe the price of aggression is cheap."_ -Ronald Reagan, speech, Jan. 16, 1984

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: **_"Dreams and Nightmares"_**

**Date: August 21, 2015**

**Time: 0359 hours, 3:59 A.M. (Washington D.C. Time)**

**Location: United States, Virginia, Langley Air Force Base  
**

Sophie got up from her bed in the room that she had been assigned to on the base. She had already slept for a long period of time as soon as she entered the hospital and had the surgery to get the metal shard removed from her thigh. This caused her internal sleep pattern to be entirely out of tune with that of the United States.

Since she couldn't sleep she immediately decided to do something else relaxing with her time. Beside her bed was a plastic bag of all the things that were taken out of her flight suit before it was disposed of. She reached in the bag and grabbed a small Bible. She put on her jogging suit and grabbed the crutches before leaving the room.

As she crutched her way out of her room and down the hallway she could have sworn she heard some sounds coming from Tony's room. Sophie approached his door and tilted her head near it. Tony was making sounds in his sleep. He sounded like he was in pain. She accidentally pressed her head against the door and it creaked. Tony had left the door unlocked.

Curiosity got the better of her and she pushed the door open further to get a peak at Tony as he tossed and turned in his bed. He had a T-shirt and cargo pants on and was sleeping on top of the blankets, signs that pointed to the fact that he had been too exhausted to go to bed more comfortably. Whatever nightmare he was having it must have been very terrifying.

She wondered if she should wake him up. After the Royal Air Force pilot thought it over for a few seconds she decided that if she were in the same position she would want to be woken up. The blonde woman flipped the switch that turned on the lights in his room. When that didn't work she started poking him in the shoulder in one of those annoying ways that forces people to wake up.

* * *

_**Location: Tony's Nightmare**_

_A burning F-15E Strike Eagle was in the view of his multifunctional display. It was exactly the same horrifying image he had seen over Iran. He continued to watch as both occupants ditched out. It was shocking._

_He looked out of the canopy and could see Bulldog's EA-18G Growler flying near him. Not too long after he laid eyes on it a missile came head on and smashed into it. Bulldog fired back with his AIM-120's. Pat ditched out. A second missile came and detonated right as Bulldog was ejecting. The same horrifying scene began playing all over again.  
_

_Suddenly Tony was back in a rolling scissors with Krylov's Flanker in a black void. He maintained his roll and kept the enemy's Su-35S in one spot on his canopy. Much to his surprise he saw that the enemy pilot did not have the cold blue eyes that he knew to belong to the Russian ace. Instead the pilot had piercing brown eyes that resembled his own. Suddenly the enemy aircraft began to morph. The canards melded into the fuselage to form leading edge root extensions. Its camouflage paint scheme dripped away in the wind to reveal another layer of Navy grey. An old fashion dog tooth wing design formed the front of the flankers wings. The engines closed space and the vertical stabilizers canted outward. It was then that he realized it had morphed into another Super Hornet. The enemy F/A-18E then kicked in thrust vectoring and steered its gun into Tony's flight path. As much as he tried to maneuver away he couldn't move. The controls completely froze. The enemy pilot pulled the trigger and unleashed the Vulcan 20mm cannon.  
_

* * *

The U.S Navy pilot awoke in a cold sweat. His heart was pounding like a machine gun. He was panting really fast. Even though he had been asleep a powerful flow of adrenaline energized him. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were shaking. To his surprise the lights in his room were on and there was a person standing next to him poking him in the shoulder. After his initial shock at the person's presence he soon realized that it was Sophie.

He sat straight up in his bed still shaking and breathing hard.

"Are you okay, Tony?" asked the British woman.

He didn't know how to respond. It had all seemed so real that he could have swore he was about to die moments ago. "It looked so real," he replied.

"What looked real?"

The Navy pilot didn't respond. Instead he looked at his hands. They wouldn't stop shaking.

"You've been through a lot. You might have P-T-S-D," Sophie said. She was deeply concerned and wanted to help him somehow. She had heard and read about experiences of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but had never actually seen it in action. Sophie slowly wrapped her arms around Tony in a comforting embrace. "It was just a bad dream. It's alright. Just relax for a moment. Breath slower."

Tony did as she asked and slowed his breathing down. As he did this Sophie prayed for God to comfort him and sooth the scars left from fighting. Soon enough the shaking stopped as well. When he was more relaxed Sophie let go and said with a smile, "I'll keep you in my prayers." She then stood up and walked towards his door. "Sleep well," she said before she left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Thanks," Tony replied. _"Wow,_ _God gave that woman a powerful soul,__"_ he thought. He hadn't realized in until then, but Sophie was a very amazing woman.

With that done Tony went to sleep comfortably the rest of the night.

* * *

**Time: 1025 hours, 10:25 A.M. (Washington D.C. Time)**

The U.S. Navy pilot slowly opened his eyes and lifted the curtains of his window to glance outside. The sun had risen high. Peace was in the atmosphere. There was no wind. Birds were chirping in the distance. Broken cloud cover was above the air base providing shade and comfort. The sunlight broke through the clouds in visible rays that warmed the base. It reminded him of the lazy Sunday mornings at his home in California. He got out of bed and finally decided to put his nasty flight suit, which he had worn and sweated in for practically three days straight, in the wash. He went through his basic hygiene process before deciding to go for a run along the airstrip.

His run led him right back to his Super Hornet, which was resting in the shade of one of the hangers. For some reason he found himself drawn to the machine, which he now had a strong personal attachment to. As he neared the hanger he slowed down and walked inside to examine how his bird was doing. It was then that he noticed the wear and tear on her airframe. Along with the scratches that came from the MiG-29 debris, several small bullet holes from small arms fire had riddled the skin of the jet. There were parts of the plane that were slightly bent from intense maneuvering. The jet itself was dirty since it hadn't been cleaned at all from the moment he took off from the _USS Bush_ and had attracted all sorts of dust from flying through the air at high speed. The metal in the crucial spots had been worn down. The turkey feather nozzles for the engines were darker than usual from being burned by constant use of the afterburners. He also noticed that some of the paint near the rear where the nozzles were attached to the airframe was starting to come off, probably another consequence of heat built up from afterburner usage.

He had put the jet through hell and back with low maintenance and it never gave up on him or failed to do what it was designed to do. Tony walked right up to the F/A-18E and patted her on the side of her fuselage. "Thanks for not letting me down," he said to her before walking out of the hanger to finish his run.

From there he showered and then headed to the mess hall for lunch. Today was as relaxed as could be and he was loving it. As he entered the mess hall he was surprised to find a person in a wheel chair sitting at one of the tables. It took him a few moments to realize that it was Nathan.

"What's up?" Nathan said with a toothy smile.

"When and how did you get here so fast?" Tony said casually. "You know I don't like surprises and you keep throwing them at me."

"I'm actually here because we have a major problem that requires our immediate attention."

"What's that?" Tony replied. "You finally ran out of corny jokes?"

"Nope, but there's a brief at nineteen hundred that will explain everything to you. I'm actually not allowed to talk about it yet. I was told to let them brief you on it."

"I'll be ready to go by then. By the way there's a really cool action movie out that I was hoping to see tonight. I'm hoping to get a group together and go see it maybe after the brief."

"I don't think we'll have time after the debrief."

"Is it really that serious that it's going to take that long?"

"Yeah," Nathan responded with a serious expression on his face, which was something Tony had never seen before.

"How about before the brief?"

"Sure, what time?"

"Let's go at fifteen hundred."

"That'll work."

Soon enough another person approached the table. Tony thought for certain that she must have walked right out of a swimsuit magazine. "Nathan, I hope you don't have to deal with conducting anymore operations after this. I would prefer that you be able to provide me assistance in picking out an area to find my asylum. You know the states a lot better than I do," said the woman with a Russian accent.

"Is this the defector?" asked Tony.

"Yeah, her name's Vanya."

Vanya extended a hand, "Nice to meet you."

Tony returned her handshake, "I'm Tony. Thanks for breaking my friend free."

"Not a problem."

* * *

Chance had found one of the ladders that led to the top of the radio tower. With a very relaxed mood and a small notepad in his hands, he stealthily snagged a chair from the briefing room and brought it up with him. As he sat on the top of the radio tower he had an excellent view of the distant Virginia countryside. He began to draw a detailed and artistic picture of what the country looked like from where he sat. Drawing was one of his favorite hobbies since he was little and he felt the sudden urge to indulge himself in it at the moment since there really wasn't anything else to do while he was on the base.

Suddenly he heard footsteps climbing up the ladder. He jerked his head around in surprise and saw Tony's head looking over the side of the building. "I'll bring the chair back I swear!" he stammered immediately.

"Oh, I'm not here for that. I'm getting a group together to go to the movies. You interested?"

"Sure. What time?"

"Fifteen hundred."

"Sounds good."

* * *

Sophie had found a quiet spot on the base near the golf course. She had stolen a chair from the briefing room to sit in the sun and enjoy the calm atmosphere that was around her. She even took off her shoes to enjoy the smooth feeling of the grass beneath her feet. In her hand was a Bible and her journal. To her left rested her crutches. The woman was writing in the journal her thoughts and prayers throughout the day. This was the most relaxing moment she had enjoyed in several days.

In her journal was written: _Bishop's death was a hefty loss. He had been a great friend and a good leader. Last night I received a message by email from a commanding officer in England that I have been selected to write his family the letter that notifies them of his death. I hate this task. I really don't know what to say to them except that he fought on the side of what was good and that his sacrifice may have saved many innocents. I miss my home and the first thing I intend to do when I return is visit my father and have ice cream with him. He seems much less sad when I am around. I have still prayed for my mother to return, even though three years have passed since she left, but it looks like she does not want to see my father ever again. My hope has not yet died, and I still believe that God is bigger than whatever problems are in my parents' relationship._

Just then she heard someone walking up from behind her. The Royal Air Force fighter pilot was startled and turned her head to look at the unknown contact coming towards her. She found Tony standing there and looking at her inquisitively. "I promise I'll put the chair back," she immediately stated.

He smiled for a moment. "I'm not here for that. Actually I'm putting a group together to go see a movie at fifteen hundred. You interested?" he asked.

"What movie?"

"_World War Z II_."

"I love zombie films! I'll be there."

Tony turned around and was about to walk away, but he stopped briefly. "Thanks for waking me up last night. You pulled me out of my nightmare," he said.

"It was nothing. I'd want the same if I was having one," she replied.

Tony gave her a nod with his head before he walked away towards his room. As he walked away Sophie watched him with a lingering stare. She then decided to write in her journal her immediate thoughts at the moment: _Tony is an interesting breed of warrior and is not like most Yanks, or men in general, that I have met. If he wanted he could boast about his skill, but he doesn't. He is quiet, calm, and strongly holds onto the old traditional American ideals of being willing to sacrifice anything for the freedom and safety of innocent people. I strongly admire him for that. I'm not normally a very girly girl, but something about him just makes me want to play the role of a woman. I really want to find out more about him if I get the chance.  
_

* * *

Shortly after the movie, Scorch, Chance, Sophie, Tony, and Nathan headed back to the base and entered the briefing room at the stated time of the brief. They took their seats and in a matter of no time at all the intelligence officer that had debriefed Nathan walked into the room and asked them to take their seats. Vanya also walked inside and stood next to the front of the room. The Russian espionage artist started the briefing.

"My name is Vanya Maraklova, former SVR Intelligence gathering operative. Two years ago I worked with a specific section of the SVR, a group called _'External Sphere.' _ Most of our work involved obtaining intelligence on the new U.S. space programs and your spy satellite network. One of our hypothetical operations was how to destroy your spy satellites if a situation ever arose that required offensive actions against your country. There were multiple problems with our methods. If we hit a satellite with an anti-sat missile the debris would spread everywhere. Sometimes we found it difficult to identify which satellites were yours and in multiple cases during our experiments we indirectly damaged China's satellites, which would cause some extremely bad international incidents with our neighbor if we ever carried out our plan. Eventually we concluded that destroying your satellites would require a weapon system that was so precise in target identification and destruction that we could carry it out without collateral damage. The plans were shelved.

"However, during my time working with _External Sphere_ I was working on a project. It involved stealing the schematics and software for an advanced telescope system called _Atlas Vision_. _Atlas Vision_ was a telescope that could easily track and observe moving objects in space. It could maintain it's line of sight on the object and keep it focused on the object even if it was moving at an incredible speed. I succeeded in stealing the designs and brought them to a contact in Kazakhstan. That same contact informed me that my work had help Russia and in two years I would have helped changed the world for the better. I wasn't able to find out the exact nature of the project before they removed me from the information circle. I was notified that my contact was from a part of the FSB and was working on something that involved a premier laser technician from my country."

The intelligence officer then stepped forward and used a remote control to dim the lights in the room and turn on the large screen in the front. It showed a satellite picture of the world. It zoomed in on southern Russia, near it's border with Kazakhstan.

"We just confirmed that this particular object is being moved away from Russia's major space development industry," he said and flipped a switch that caused the satellite to zoom in on an object that was covered under a large blanket. It was being pulled by a truck up a dirt road that went northwest.

"We have our own informants in the FSB and one of them contacted us a few hours ago with evidence that suggests the object being moved is a high powered and highly precise laser system capable of turning a satellite into ash in a matter of seconds. The laser most likely has been designed to work with software from _Atlas Vision_ and can easily identify, target, and vaporize a satellite. Reliable intel from the informant also further confirmed Vanya's suspicions that if U.N. Resolution 2441 gets passed they will use the war with Israel as an excuse to terminate our satellite system under the guise that we are letting the Israelis use them for their defending operations."

All the pilots in the room stared at him with stunned disbelief.

"That's ridiculous! That's an act of war! I don't believe they would actually do that," said Scorch.

The intelligence operative turned to look at Scorch and calmly said, "How do you find this hard to believe? Our nation doesn't have the stomach for another war since we just finished fighting two of them. Once their war is over Israel will be gone and they will be the leading super power empire on the planet. After they terminate our satellite system we'll simply terminate theirs as well, but they only have three working military satellites so it won't be much of a loss for them. We have dozens on the other hand. We can't use drones to gather intelligence afterward since they all rely on a satellite connection to their controller. A vast amount of our weapons systems would become useless because they heavily rely on military satellite guidance and targeting. A vast majority of Russian weapons are designed to be self contained and do not use satellites. Combine that with the drastic increase in numbers and equipment they will get from their Islamic allies joining into their empire as well as their ability to militarily take control of the natural resources in the Middle East and they will instantly gain power on a scale that no empire has ever had in history. They would have extreme control over the oil industry, the economy, the largest and most well armed military force on the planet, as well as the political influence that would come to them as a result. No one could stop them from doing anything they wanted."

A set of chills went over everyone in the room at the mere thought of what the world would be like with the presence of such an empire.

"What can we do to stop it?" asked Tony.

"If our intel proves correct and the U.N. Resolution does get passed, I have been given permission from your respective governments to task you with destroying that laser. Resolution 2441 gives Israel thirty days to give up their nuclear weapons and that's how long you have to prepare the airstrike," replied the intelligence officer.

"That's crazy!" said Nathan. "You're talking about a direct and illegal penetration of sovereign Russian air space with foreign military aircraft. Why not use special forces?"

"The Russians guessed we would use them and have an entire regiment of Spetsnaz and FSB operatives as well as armored units guarding the object at all times. We're going to have trouble massing together enough SEALs and Delta Force operatives to match them in the timeline that we have. We have an assault planned by Special Forces, but there is no certainty that it will work. An airstrike has a better probability of success. The Russians only had the resources to make one of these laser weapon systems in time for the war and they aren't taking any chances with it, but from what we can gather they still don't think we would be bold enough to conduct an airstrike. They have only moved four SA-21's into the area to guard the object."

"Only four!" said Scorch. "One of those can take out a division of F-22's. They're only easy to destroy if you know where they are in advance and you have the element of surprise. That's not counting the large amount of fighter aircraft they can have in the area if we are discovered before we can get to them. Not to mention that if they shoot one of us down and find out where we're from the political consequences would be more intense than anything that happened during the Cold War, even the incident with Gary Power's U-2."

A smirk came over the intelligence officer's face. "That's why if the U.N. Resolution is passed all your service contracts that you signed with your governments will be terminated."

The room went dead silent.

When he got no response from the group of pilots the intelligence officer said, "I've been charged with finding a group capable of this mission and since you have proven yourselves in taking out the Iranian reactors you were the obvious choice. The choice is up to you if you are willing to accept this mission and if the circumstances require it. We'll turn you into a mercenary squadron for hire by the U.S. and our allies. After all, no one knows who hires mercenaries these days anyway. You will be one of two selected mercenary squadrons that will hit the laser. Lieutenant Richardson, you will be in charge. We would have selected Coughlin, but his judgement has become questionable ever since the battle over Jordan."

Scorch merely sneered. "My instincts weren't wrong," he said with venom in his voice.

If anything, Tony suddenly felt like he had been handed a huge weight. He really hoped that the information on the disc prevented the U.N. Resolution from going through. The United Nations were having the vote tomorrow and he suddenly knew that he was not going to sleep well tonight.

* * *

**Red Crown: Sorry for the long time it took me to update. School has been ramping up and I need to focus well on my studies so updates might be slower from now on, but your reviews do still empower me with motivation. More reviews means a sooner update!**_  
_


	23. First Strike Order

_"After a long, hopeless war, people will settle for peace, at almost any price."_** -**Salman Rushdie, preface, The Jaguar Smile

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: **_"First Strike Order"_**

**Date: August 22, 2015**

**Time: 1721 hours, 5:21 P.M. (Washington D.C. Time)**

**Location: United States, Virginia, Langley Air Force Base**

Tony woke up to someone shaking him by the shoulder. He was surprised at how much he had slept. The person trying to wake him up was Scorch.

"Hate to interrupt your beauty sleep, but you really need to see this," he said.

The Navy pilot rolled out of bed and groggily got dressed in his clean flight suit and boots. He followed Scorch out of the barracks and down to the wardroom. Everyone else, including the intelligence officer, was in the room gathered around the TV.

"Tony, where have you been? The Resolution got passed in the U.N. already!" shouted Nathan.

"What?" Tony said awestruck.

He had slept through the entire voting process. He was slightly angry that no one woke him up, but at the same time he knew that he really needed the sleep since he was anxious and alert the whole night and finally ended up collapsing from exhaustion. This had been causing havoc with his already jet-lagged sleep pattern. He approached the TV just in time to see a reporter giving his comments on the footage of the repaired disc feed. In fact, the moment he looked at the screen they were replaying feed.

He clearly saw that the footage followed the moment he flew over the plants at mach speed to dodge the SA-21 missile that was fired at him. He could see the camera view following a street in between the buildings he had flown through. The image was paused when it came across a parked limo with two men wearing suits and standing in front. The two men's facial features were extremely defined in the image. They were both looking right back at the camera with shock in their eyes.

At that moment Tony caught the reporter's words. "What you see here are two very well known people. One of them is Hezbollah Commander Akil Azeem, a well known terrorist responsible for many attacks primarily aimed at the U.S., the U.K., and Israel. The other man is the second hand man of a prominent Russian official responsible for Nuclear Weapons Security in the Russian Federation. His name is Yuri Glaskov. The fact that both of these men were caught meeting at this particular place and time is highly unusual and the U.S. has evidence that this man has been working with orders that come directly from somewhere in the Russian government to give Hezbollah nuclear materials to use in terrorist attacks against the United States and allies. This footage was shown at the recent U.N. Security Council meeting that determined the fate of Resolution 2441. Here we have Political Scientist John Rake."

The screen split in half and revealed the most well known Political Scientist of the time, a man named John Rake. He was well dressed in a suit and tie and looked to be about 50 years of age. The reporter then pulled out a new set of papers and laid them in front of him, which gave the viewer a hint that these were questions going to be aimed at the political scientist. "Professor Rake, the U.S. also claims that this is part of a ploy by the Russians to gain power in the Middle East through uniting with several Islamic countries and destroying the State of Israel. What do you think of this?"

"This could help explain some of the erratic actions take by the U.S. and her allies, such as the penetration of Iranian Air Space with multiple fighter aircraft and cruise missiles to decimate the Islamic Republic's nuclear material production capability. However, the U.S. as always is paranoid about Iranian weapons ending up in the hands of terrorists. They revealed evidence that shows Iranian backed terrorists were attempting to sneak nuclear weapons into the U.S. and detonate them in major cities. The authenticity of this evidence has slightly come into question. I don't necessarily think that it was the right course of action. Diplomacy hadn't been pushed to it's maximum limit just yet."

At that moment Scorch grumbled something that was barely audible, but sounded like, "Nuclear armed terrorists on our soil means diplomacy is obsolete."

"How far exactly did these terrorists get with the nuclear weapons?" asked the reporter.

"They were stopped by ship at sea before they could reach American soil," replied Rake.

Every pilot in the room looked at the intelligence officer with a curious look. They had all been told that the terrorists had attempted to attack multiple countries, not just the U.S., and were barely stopped while inside of American, British, and Israeli territory. They had no clue as to why the publicly released information was different.

The intelligence officer quickly caught on to everyone staring at him. "What? You think the civilian population would handle the knowledge that they could have been annihilated a few days ago very well? No one wants to deal with that type of panic," he said rhetorically.

In response, they all shrugged nonchalantly and went back to watching the interview.

The reporter flipped a page in his notes and finally asked the dying question that was on everyone's minds. "Most of the nations of the E.U. have claimed that they believe this is not such a bad solution to the Middle East problem. Some people speculate that they have been shown how they will profit from the long term peace established in the Middle East so it is not surprising that most of them voted 'yes' on the resolution. Mr. Rake, as you know the U.S. and Britain currently have permanent seats at the United Nations and both countries have the power to veto any resolution that is proposed unilaterally. The U.S. has historically vetoed most of the resolutions aimed at Israel, yet in this particular case the U.S. voted to abstain and surprisingly Britain voted 'yes.' Why do you think this is?"

Rake shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "The President of the United States is ultimately the one who made the choice. The U.S. President already made a statement that said it is time for the United States to head in a new direction and begin a new policy on the state of Israel. As for the British government, they may see this as a way of procuring long term peace in the Middle East at the cost of the some short lived violence. I guess you could say they think of it as sort of a 'one war to end them all' type of deal. Most of the news media outlets at this time are spreading rumors that both the U.S. and the U.K. are trying to be extremely considerate of their reputations around the world, which are very poor at the moment mind you. They have both entirely run out of political capital. Several rumors have already spread from the the traditionally right wing groups in both countries that their leaders gave into cowardice in the face of what political backlash would happen as a result of vetoing this Resolution. Who knows? They might be right."

"Mr. Rake, what do you think of those suspicions that the Russians won't be able to hold back their Islamic allies from sticking to the goals outlined in the Resolution and only taking Israel's nuclear weapons? What's to stop them from not going further, such as wiping the entire Jewish State out of existence?"

"Well, I think the Islamic countries have exercised quite a bit of restraint in the passed few years and I don't think they will completely lose control over their armies when they enforce this Resolution."

"Well, that's all the time we have. Thank you, Mr. Rake."

Tony had seen enough. He walked out of the wardroom angry. He didn't have all the details, but for whatever reason his president had so easily sold out a good friend and ally to destruction just so that the U.S. could avoid powerful political backlash. His leaders had failed to stand up for a friend when it counted the most. This angered the Naval Aviator to no end. The American naval pilot decided to immediately go for a run to cool down his temper. At the same time the weight of the responsibility for the attack against the Atlas Laser began to sink it. This was going to be one hell of a month.

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

Pat and Scott had finally resurfaced somewhere in Italy. In no time at all she found herself on a flight home. Scott had been sent into intensive care in a hospital in England on the way. The drug that their tormentors used had caused some serious damage in his stomach and nervous system. Pat felt uneasy, but she had received only one dose of the drug. She learned before they left that Scott had been given several. His fight was over.

From there she remained on the plane as it made its way to Virginia.

* * *

**Date: August 23, 2015**

**Time: 1323 hours, 1:23 P.M. (Moscow Time)**

**Location: Southern Russia, Russian Federation Airstrip near Volgograd**

The air was warm at a very nice 77 degrees Fahrenheit. Strong winds blew the across the air strip, which was in relatively good shape compared to the other airstrips in Russia. To the west and south were tall grass fields and the more agrarian side of the Motherland. To the northeast was the city of Volgograd, which still had buildings largely from the Soviet area and appeared rather plain and old. An overcast sky made the area seem somewhat gloomy, but it was still welcomed by Krylov.

Major General Krylov had been given two tasks from his superiors. The first was to develop a plan of attack for the initial airstrikes that would cripple Israel at the beginning of the war. The second was to train several fighter pilots from foreign countries friendly to the alliance to carry out that plan.

"Has my plane arrived?" he asked Lena as they walked out of the An-74 to head down along the airstrip.

"Da," she replied. "It was ordered moments after you asked for it. It should be in the Number One Hanger right now."

"Good."

He had decided that the airstrip at Volgogrod served as a perfect place to train his strike squadron, many of whom he later learned were fellow mercenaries. The airstrip was made during the days of the Soviet Union as a base for MiG-23's. After the Soviet Collapse the base was abandoned and left for scrap; however, Maraklov had plans to use it as a training base for new Russian pilots and had the airstrip repaved as well as the hangers refreshed. All the officer's quarters had also been remodeled. Other than the hangers, the airstrip, and the officer's quarters the rest of the base looked like old crap.

He and his secretary walked over to the number one hanger and two maintenance personnel pushed open the doors. As the doors were pushed back they revealed an aircraft that had razor sharp edges, thrust vectored nozzles, a smooth low drag airframe, and the black, white, and gray camo scheme of the Russian Air Force. A coating of radar absorbent material and a stealthy shape made the jet very difficult to track on radar. It featured the most advanced avionics in the world, powerful enough to compete with America's best. In low observable paint on the tail and wing was the roundel of the Russian Federation Air Force: the red outline of the Soviet Star. A smirk graced his face as he laid eyes on the beauty: one of the very first production model Su-50 PAK-FA stealth fighters. He had decided to undertake the task of learning how to fly the Su-50 and use its stealth to maximum effect.

As he looked over to his left where several of the other hangers rested he spotted several tactical aircraft from the countries that he was about to train. They each came in small squadrons that consisted of five pilots and five aircraft.

The first that he noted were the North Koreans with their brand new MiG-35 Super Fulcrums. North Korea was desperately seeking ties with any nation to curb it's rapidly collapsing infrastructure. Russia was an obvious choice because of their shared history in the Twentieth Century. In Krylov's opinion the North Koreans were some of the poorest pilots he had ever heard of. Their government could not get out of its Cold War Era Communist ideology and economic policy. They had little money to train their pilots and what money they did have they spent on aircraft and weapons. The North Koreans were only recently trying to get involved in the mercenary business, but they were extremely hesitant. The government didn't want its subjects to see the world and be tempted to defect from the glorious North Korean state.

Second were the Iranians with their brand new Su-30MKIR Super Flankers. They were there for obvious reasons. He noticed that his old friend Rasheed was leading them.

Lastly were the Pakistanis with their JF-17 Thunder short range multi-role fighters. The Thunder was a poorly made Chinese-Pakistani fighter that was designed to compete on the international weapons market against the MiG-29 Fulcrum. It didn't have the same high performance as the late model Fulcrums that it was competing against, but it was very cheap and its capability matched its price. Pakistan had a vested interest in the Alliance as one of its most dedicated members and was still extremely bitter at the United States for the great international humiliation that they received when Osama Bin Laden was killed on their territory by U.S. forces that completely bypassed and dodged their entire military network without detection. Pakistani pilots were trained better than the North Koreans and Iranians since they had some help from, ironically, the U.S. training them with their F-16's.

Krylov walked right up to his old friend Rasheed and shook his hand. "Welcome to the New Russia," he said.

Rasheed smiled. "My country is very thankful to yours. You have finally given us the opportunity to carry out Allah's work the way it was meant to be fulfilled. Your country will be rewarded greatly for this."

"Of that I have no doubt," Krylov replied confidently. "Power is the greatest of the spoils of war."

A couple hours later in the evening the Russian aviator sat alone in his office going through several of the files that he had, all of which were on the Israeli military's defense capabilities. He was impressed at how the Israelis were able to fortify their pitifully small strip of land that they called a country. They even designed their equipment based on the specifics of the terrain. Creating an effective assault plan was not going to be easy. He thought that the best method of attack would be a model that the Americans had used when they invaded Iraq in 2003.

The initial strikes would be with several Russian Club-K supersonic cruise missiles aimed at crucial factories, airstrips, and stock piles. From there an effective bombing force could begin destroying everything in sight. He hoped he could find whoever was in charge of the ground assault and coordinate for them to have armored units accompanied by Hind gunships to move in afterward.

Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching his office. He looked up and spotted Lena standing in the doorway.

"Were you able to find out who is in charge of the initial ground assault?"

"I looked and found that there is not one, but several commanders, all of which are from foreign countries. It's quite a confusing mess."

"Very well. Tell them I want to meet with them. I have plans to discuss that could save them a lot of trouble."

Lena walked over to the side of his desk swaggering her hips as she did so. The Ukrainian woman sat on the edge of his desk and assumed a pose that was almost suggestive. She had her head tilted back and her hair pushed off to one side. Her hands were supporting herself behind her, exposing her chest. At that moment Krylov saw that her shirt had the first few buttons undone, revealing some of her cleavage. Lena's gorgeous legs were crossed over and hanging over the side of the fighter pilot's desk. That fact that she had a short skirt allowed her lush skin to be easily exposed to the Major General's eyes. The secretary smiled at him and her smile greatly resembled Natasha's. "You work too hard, Major General. Maybe you should take a break."

"I just got here and I am well rested enough. This type of task actually energizes me," Krylov replied. For the past couple of years he had focused entirely on his mercenary work. It had been a very long time since he had the pleasurable company of a woman. The secretary in front of him was really messing with his mind at the moment.

Lena twisted herself so that her upper body was directly facing him. Slowly she leaned forward and further exposed the view down her shirt. The Ukrainian put her hand on his wrist, before sliding her fingers up the sleeve of his flight suit. At a distance that was mere inches away from his face she whispered, "I think I know of a few ways that will energize you better than this. I'll be at your service all day today and all night if you like. As your secretary you can ask of me _anything_ and I'll do it for you." She put a strong, seductive emphasis on the word "anything."

Although the Russian aviator was greatly tempted to indulge himself in her, something didn't seem right to him. She seemed to try to give him what any normal man would want much too quickly. Her looks resembled his past lover. Even her actions reminded him of the way Natasha would play with his mind; only Lena went much further and was more aggressive.

He pulled out his MR-444, flipped off the safety, and pressed the barrel against her head. Once he saw the expression on Lena's face change to that of fear he said, "You have to the count of five to tell me what your angle is and who the hell you're working for." Krylov had already decided that he wasn't going to kill her, but he had to find out for certain what she was up to. He decided that he would count to five and see how she responded. If she really wasn't hiding anything he saw no reason why he shouldn't enjoy her company. "One."

She still remained silent.

"Two."

No response.

"Three."

"Okay! I'll tell you! Moscow thinks you might be unpredictable and they sent me to monitor your actions! That's all!"

Krylov refused to lower his pistol. "What organization are you from? The FSB? SVR? If someone wanted to observe me you fit the profile since you resemble a good friend I had several years ago."

"No, I'm just an intern from the embassy! All I do is push papers! I received training to do a General's job for extra pay and a promotion! Someone high in our government contacted me! They told me that I could get extra pay if I became as involved with you as possible and reported back to them all the information I had on you! They left me shady contact information and I don't even know who they were! That's it I swear!" she said extremely terrified.

Krylov emitted a low chuckle from amusement before flipping the safety back on and putting the pistol away. "They sent an inexperienced little girl like you to watch over me? What a joke. I bet your superiors are laughing at this themselves. I can assure you that I have Moscow's best interest in mind. Report your findings as they asked, but don't ever try to play me for a fool again," he said. The FSB was the only group that had files on Natasha's relationship with the Russian ace pilot. This was only because Natasha's father was a powerful member himself and kept in contact with her before she died so it was believable that they would send someone identical to her if they wanted to spy on him. Krylov didn't want to kill Lena since she was still going to do the administrative part of his job and he _really_ didn't want that paper work. He also saw no reason to hide anything from his superiors, at least not yet anyway.

"Yes, sir," Lena responded and immediately began buttoning up her shirt.

Just then one of the North Korean pilots walked into the office. "Major General, I have a request!" he said in perfect Russian.

Krylov looked at the man curious. "Proceed."

"I would like the privilege of firing the first shot in your strike plan."

Krylov again chuckled from amusement. One thing he caught onto quickly was that the North Koreans were the worst trained, but the most motivated. This was probably due to their intensive brainwashing program sponsored by the government that literally began at birth. Krylov had no idea what the North Koreans were taught, but he found this group of pilots that they had sent him extremely entertaining at how intensely serious they were about everything.

This particular pilot's name was Baek Doo San and he was the leader of his mercenary squadron. He was short and had high cheek bones, dark short smooth hair, sharp facial features, pale skin, and a nasty scar that went along his neck down into his collar. The Russian pilot was curious about where the scar came from but he decided to worry about it later. Right now he wanted to use this North Korean's motivation to his advantage. "If you can prove to me that you're a better pilot than the others I'll give you that privilege."

"Yes, sir!" Baek responded and left the room.

Just as Krylov was getting back to work he suddenly saw Baek run back into his office. There was a troubled look on his face.

"What is it?" the Russian asked.

"Sir, I have some bad news to report," he stated as he seemed even more uneasy.

"Go on," Krylov replied.

"Sir, three of my pilots seem to have err... liberated one of your vehicles."

"What do you mean?"

"Three of my men took one of the cars on base and left. I don't think they have any intention of ever coming back, sir."

Krylov calmly got up and walked over to his window. He pulled the blinds down with one finger and was able to see the only road that led to the city. Two red tail lights of one of the UAZ military cars from the base were clearly visible streaming off to the bright city. The UAZ was used extensively by the North Koreans so it was no surprise that they must have known how to hotwire the car.

The Major General merely shrugged. "FSB will get them."

* * *

**Red Crown: I don't know if any of you caught why I named the political scientist "Rake." A rake is a tool... get it? Nevermind. More reviews means a sooner update!**


	24. Best Friends

**Red Crown: Real quick, I just wanted you all to know that I am now accepting anonymous reviews. So for those of you that want to review, but don't want to log in, it's much easier for you now.**_  
_

_"The enemy of my enemy is my friend."_ -Ancient Proverb

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: _**"Best Friends"**_

**Date: August 24, 2015**

**Time: 0925 hours, 9:25 A.M. (Washington D.C. Time)**

**Location: United States, Virginia, Langley Air Force Base**

All the pilots showed up to the briefing room the next morning to start what they knew would be a long series of sessions to plan the strike. However, all the pilots had shown up early and were waiting for whoever was running the first session to come in and start it. Although the atmosphere outside was peaceful and sunny the mood in the room was sullen and gloomy. Morale was low.

Most of them were asking themselves questions like: Why did our friends die? What did their deaths accomplish?

Tony had been trying to give it meaning ever since the resolution was passed. He supposed the fact that the disc survived meant that the truth was preserved and when people look at it several years from now they will know what was really happening. However, this was always countered by the thought that if he had known the resolution was going to get passed anyway he would much rather have Bulldog alive than have the disc maintained.

Sophie and Chance silently had similar thoughts as they each considered their own losses. Scorch thought the same questions about his wingman who perished over the Taiwan Straight. This situation reminded him of that day. Nathan too thought about how Romeo had been killed, but he was killed as a consequence of terminating the Iranian nuclear facilities, an action which had valid results.

The same familiar intelligence officer soon walked in ready to give them the brief. It was then they all realized that they didn't even know his name. Not only did they realize they didn't know his name, but there were no name tags or name tapes on his uniform. The first thing they did when they all sat down was ask him what his name was. The intelligence officer smartly replied that he could not tell them his name because it was classified. At that moment Scorch immediately dubbed him "The Gecko," after the old spy based Playstation console game called, "Gex."

To their surprise Gex admitted that he had played the game when he was little and liked his new nickname. "Anyway," he began and pressed a button on the remote he had that dimmed the lights in the room and turned on the monitor at the front, "We examined our satellite paths in orbit and concluded the best place for them to put the Atlas Laser for optimum effect when the Resolution comes into play will most likely be at the southern province of Altai, located here." Gex flipped another switch and Altai became highlighted in Red.

The mountainous Altai province was located deep in southern Russia where it met Kazakhstan, China, and Mongolia. It was known for having the Altai mountain range and was considered one of the roughest, most mountainous areas to travel. It also had extremely large caves and landscape so beautifully lush in its design that it almost looked magical.

"How the hell are we going to get at it if it's right there?" asked Scorch. "We have no allies with borders even near that area."

"That's not entirely true. There is another country that knows about the Russians' plans to take out our satellites and they have agreed to help us. They will provide us with an airbase nearby and even a squadron of their best to assist us in conducting the airstrike."

Just then they heard the sounds of jet engine turbines roaring overhead.

"That should be them arriving right now," Gex said as he looked at his watch. "They're right on time. I think we should go out and meet our new allies. Follow me," he said.

The intelligence officer led them out of the briefing room and had them walk over to the airstrip where they soon saw six dots flying overhead in formation. These were followed by two larger aircraft. Just then the dots grew in size as they lowered their altitude.

To all of the pilot's amazement they could have swore they saw five Su-30 Super Flankers coming in on the landing strip. For a moment they thought they were hallucinating, but to their utter amazement the Russian-designed jets were real. Scorch was the most shocked of all of them. As he examined their insignia he noticed that they were those of the People's Liberation Army Air Force.

The Chinese aircraft touched down on the landing strip and slowed to a halt. Soon after they landed one last massive fighter with sharp stealthy edges, a delta wing configuration, canards, and a coating of black radar absorbent paint lowered it's altitude to the landing strip. They all recognized it as the J-20, China's new prototype stealth fighter. Scorch payed careful attention to the insignia's on each of the aircraft and noticed that all the Flankers had a coiled dragon painted on the side of their fuselage. However, the J-20 had a tiger's paw print in blood red with the claws drawn on the side below the cockpit. Not only that, but right behind the cockpit were two nonspecific aircraft kill marks.

Lastly to land were two IL-76 Cargo aircraft, which held the necessary parts and maintenance for the incoming Chinese warplanes.

Gex had to shout above the sound of the multiple jet engines to talk to the allied pilots. "If all the mercenaries came from western nations the Russians could make a case that the U.S. hired them, but if some of the fighters used to attack Atlas Vision were from the East it would confuse the hell out of them. The Chinese don't want our satellites gone because they fear the idea of the Russians becoming too powerful as well. China and Russia have had some rocky relations in the past and, like us, they want to keep the balance of power in the world from becoming one-sided. We may disagree with them on everything else, but this is one moment where our goals are the same."

"In other words: the enemy of my enemy is my friend," Chance said.

Gex continued, "The J-20 is the aircraft that will kill the laser. Unlike the F-22 and F-35 it doesn't have any of our classified technology. The Russians already know all the technology in the J-20 because they helped the Chinese build it. It should be stealthy enough to reach the laser with our strike plan. If it gets shot down the Russians won't gain any new knowledge so it's much less risky to use."

"Aren't the Chinese worried we'll try to steal it?" asked Nathan.

"What is there to steal?" Gex replied. "The Russians gave the Chinese technology from their old MiG-1.44 project to build it. The J-20 has nothing new that we don't already have."

Scorch felt his old internal wound begin to reopen and the old pain became fresh as he realized that whoever was piloting the J-20 was probably the exact same pilot that had killed his best friend, Ben "Punk" Sandrage, over the Taiwan Straight. Who else could it be? The odds of another Chinese pilot killing two fighters were extremely low since they hadn't had a war recently. Much less were the odds of one of them having that same insignia.

All the Chinese fighter crews climbed out of their cockpits and formed a rank with each of the four Flanker pilots in line and their WSO's behind them. The J-20 pilot stood outside of the rank and called cadences as he led the march forward down along the airstrip right towards their western counterparts. This made it clear that the J-20 pilot was the leader. As he got closer Scorch paid special attention him.

The J-20 pilot had medium length dark black smooth hair, sharp eyes, narrow straight eyebrows, strong Chinese facial features, and a pale yellow skin tone native to his nation. He was medium in height, roughly just as tall as Scorch. As he got even closer his eye heterochromia became visible. His left eye was dark brown while his right eye was a brighter hazel gray tinge. He looked to be in his late twenties and on his face was a big smile.

The J-20 pilot halted the group and then dismissed them. From there the Chinese approached them and extended hands ready for a handshake. The allied pilots shook their hands. Tony was surprised at how polite and collected these pilots were. They all spoke English and they all shared a joke that they learned in English in order to better make friends. Some of them were curious as to why Sophie was injured, which allowed Sophie to tell her story. One of the Flanker pilots pulled out a note pad and walked over to Chance. He opened the notebook and showed a very well drawn picture of the Forbidden Palace, one of China's most sacred historical sites. He took the piece of paper out and handed it to him as a gift. Chance was surprised that he found a fellow artist and quickly pulled out his own small notepad and allowed the Flanker pilot to pick a drawing from his own artistry in return. All fighter crews from both sides were very welcoming, that is all of them except Scorch who seemed to be standoffish.

Gex watched with great anticipation. This was going way better than he thought it would. Now if he could just keep those new partnerships together.

Just then the J-20 pilot walked over to Scorch and decided to try befriending him. "I am Major Lei Feng," he said with a slight Chinese accent that was barely noticeable. He extended a hand and said in the most polite manner, "Please to meet you."

Scorch didn't shake his hand and glared at him with disgust in his eyes. "Those two kills on your canopy wouldn't happen to have been Raptors over the Taiwan Straight would they?"

Feng's eyes widened in surprised that let Scorch know he had hit the nail on the head.

"This is for my wingman." He then raised his fist and smashed it into Feng's face as hard as he could.

Everyone stopped in their tracks as they watched Feng fall on the ground with a bloody nose. Scorch turned around and stormed back over to his barracks furious.

Feng got back on his feet surprised at what had just occurred and watched Scorch walk away. Slowly the surprise faded away as he soon recognized who it was that had just hit him.

Gex slapped his hand on his forehead and mumbled, "Why can't things go like I planned them just once?"

* * *

**Location: Southern Russia, Russian Federation Airstrip near Volgograd**

Krylov landed his Su-50 aircraft down on the airstrip at Volgograd in the evening. The jet performed amazingly and he was able to fly circles around the other mercenary pilots without them ever knowing he was there.

Shortly after he walked away from his aircraft Lena approached him and handed him the supply list for all the weapons that he had ordered. The list was complete down to the last detail and all his weapons were on the way.

The Major General seemed distracted with something else on his mind. "Lena, do you know of a project called 'Atlas Vision?'"

"No, sir. I could go look it up if you like."

"That's not necessary. Maraklov told me about it before I fired him. If you don't know now then you don't need to know. I believe that the Americans are going to try to terminate it when our operation to crush Israel begins." Krylov reached in his pocket and handed the secretary his access card. "I want you to find out where they are stationing the Atlas and I want to be deployed nearby it when the offensive against Israel starts."

"Sir, why do you think that the Americans are going to attempt to destroy it?" asked Lena.

"If I was them I would," Krylov replied. "Also, there is a small cardboard box in my office that Maraklov left on base when he came here many years ago from a trip to Sudan. Don't open it. Destroy it."

Just then Lena turned around and was about to walk away, but she suddenly stopped and looked at the Major General with hopeful eyes. "Sir, do you need anything else?"

Krylov looked at her and saw that there was something in her gaze. He couldn't quite describe it. It was like a deep fascination. "No, just do what I asked and remember under no circumstances are you to open that box."

"Yes, sir." She left.

_"What was that about?"_ thought the Russian ace. Krylov began to worry about having Lena on the base. If she really was employed by the FSB, then he couldn't lay a hand on her. If the FSB found that he intentionally terminated one of their own operatives he would be in serious trouble. He was just glad for the moment that Lena was so naive she didn't know the kind of protection she was under. Krylov had to consider another way to get rid of her and find a replacement. He decided to worry about it later and use the time that he currently had to run some checks on the PAK-FA. As Krylov looked at the stealth jet he had to admit that he had some doubts about it when he had first heard of it, but his doubts had all been crushed when he used it in practice against the other mercenaries. They had no idea he was even there. Fighting itself was almost boring because it was too easy to win.

Lena went back to her own room in the officer's quarters. She attempted to log onto her computer. It started loading, but shortly thereafter it shut down. She tried to power it up again, but it didn't work. She then followed the power cord from her computer to the outlet in the wall and saw that the outlet was open. She glanced inside the opening and saw the wires were extremely old, possibly from the Soviet era. When Maraklov had ordered the officer's quarters to be remodeled they must have missed this outlet. She sighed from frustration before she reached over to her book bag and pulled out her laptop only to find that it needed to be recharged. The power outlets in Krylov's office worked. She didn't think he would mind.

The secretary got up and walked to the office of her boss. She sat down and plugged her power adapter into the wall to give her laptop power. She put the Major General's access card in a slot on her laptop that allowed her to get onto a secret network used by the dark side of Russian military intelligence.

As Lena began to have the information for whatever the Atlas was downloaded into her computer she spotted the small cardboard box that had been taped shut right next to her behind the desk. Curiosity began to itch in her mind. She knew Krylov told her not open it and to destroy everything inside of it. Slowly she reasoned in her mind that if her job was to spy on him and the Major General also told her to report her findings to her contact then looking inside the box was well in her line of work.

The Ukrainian woman picked up the box and set it on her lap before using her nails to cut the tape. As she opened it she looked inside and found several pictures and a small journal. Most of them were of Krylov when he was in his early twenties. In every picture he was with a woman that she did not know. She examined one of the pictures more closely and for a split moment thought she saw herself in the photos. She had to stare for a few seconds before capturing the differences between the woman and herself. The woman in the picture had darker hair, was taller, and her eyes were slightly more refined than her own. It was clear from the pictures that they were in a deeply intimate relationship. Most of them featured Krylov holding her in his arms, drinking vodka with her, kissing her, and even laughing with her.

She then reached for his journal and opened it. It was only halfway filled. She flipped over to one of the last entries near the back and read the text:

_December 31st, 2002: I had always wondered if real love ever existed in the world. I found that love in Natasha and now she is dead. Some unknown aircraft penetrated our airspace. They killed her along with Federov and Suvorov before attacking the training camps in their area of operations. I terminated all of them as they attempted to leave the area, but I had arrived too late to save my squadron. With her gone so is the light in my world. My entire being cries for revenge, but I don't even know who to point my fury at. The enemies used F-16s and F-14s. The nearest F-16 operator is Egypt, but they don't have the refueling capability necessary to launch their aircraft far enough to get here. The nearest F-14 operator is a U.S. Navy carrier that is in the Red Sea. I don't know what's going on in this dark hell of an African country, but once I find whoever took Natasha from me I will make them suffer._

Lena then went to the next entry:

_January 2nd, 2003: I've been looking for enemy aircraft every time I go up. I decided to patrol the camps used by the government north of the city with a full load of air-to-air missiles every flight I get. Today I finally encountered the enemy as they made an attempt on the camps just like I had hoped. I wiped out all of their number. Blood for blood. Revenge is delicious. I will continue to patrol the air over the camps if it means angering them further._

Lena finally made it to the last entry:

_January 12th, 2003: This will be the last entry I will make. Several operatives from my government are taking me back to the Motherland. They said I have angered the Americans and that I am being drafted back into the Russian Air Force with a handler named Colonel Maraklov to pay for my crimes. My only crime was avenging Natasha's death. This ache in my heart is something that will not die. I miss her so much it's tearing me apart inside. We were only together for half a month, but it was the best time of my life. Now revenge is all I have left to live for... and I welcome it.  
_

Lena closed th_e_ journal and put it back into the box. She didn't know that Krylov had gone through such a loss. A strong part of her felt sorry for him._  
_

"Didn't I tell you not to open that?"

Lena looked up and saw Major General Krylov standing in the doorway with a cold blue stare that could have shattered glass.

She hesitated before answering, "I was just doing my job."

"You're job was to destroy it."

"No, the other job," she replied with an innocent smile.

Krylov couldn't really argue with that so he walked over to her and forcefully snatched the box out of her lap. "You see now why the FSB sent you and not a veteran operative? They did it to screw with my mind," he said and walked towards the door.

Before he had his foot out of the office Lena said, "She was very beautiful."

The Russian ace pilot paused for a moment and looked back at his secretary. He could see a mix of compassion and sympathy in her eyes. Krylov vividly remembered Natasha's beauty in his mind. It had been so long ago that she died. The one thing he couldn't forget was the feeling that he got when he was around her. "Yes, she was," he stated. He left the office to destroy the materials personally.

* * *

**Location: United States, Virginia, Langley Air Force Base**

A matter of minutes after greeting the Chinese crew Tony followed Scorch over to his barracks. He went inside Scorch's room and found the Raptor pilot standing over a small cabinet with a picture in his hand.

Tony could see the picture was of Scorch and another pilot. The other pilot had one of his hands up in the classic "V" for victory sign while his other arm was around Scorch's neck, who looked surprised as if he wasn't expecting the picture to be taken at the moment.

"Thanks for improving our international relations," Tony said jokingly. "Why did you punch that guy? We need to work with him to destroy the Atlas Laser you know."

Scorch hesitated before answering. "He killed a good friend of mine, one of my best."

"How do you know it was him?"

"Trust me I know. There are two kill marks painted behind his canopy. One of those is my friend. The other is me."

Tony didn't know what else to say from there. He didn't want to leave because he thought that would just make things worse so he sat in silence with Scorch for the next few moments until he could think of something good to tell his friend. "Bitterness is a terrible thing to hold onto. It eats you up from the inside out and sucks away your happiness. Also, you might want to look at it from Feng's point of view. He was probably just following orders," he finally said.

"Then tell me," Scorch said as he put the picture down and turned around, "If you had the chance to kill _The Red Czar_, would you? He's killed plenty of your friends too."

"I did have the chance to kill him and I didn't take it. I feel much better about myself because of it. I haven't let a desire for revenge imprison me."

"Do you really believe that?" Scorch asked.

"Yes," Tony replied confidently.

"I can't let it go. It's still fresh in my mind."

Tony paused for a second. "Can you at least put it aside so that we can conduct the mission?"

Scorch sighed. "I don't know. I think I can," he replied.

"Well, you're going to have to. If you can't, then they might kick you out and send you home."

"Who's 'they?' You're the one in charge."

Tony froze for a moment as he realized that he really was the only one in the squadron with the power to do that since he was the leader now. He hadn't really thought about the power he had over the squadron. He really didn't want to have to remove Scorch from the squadron since he already had come to trust him and knew that Scorch had more experience than he did.

"If you removed me from the mission I'd be pissed as hell, but I wouldn't blame you for it."

"How about this," Tony began as he started to make a proposal, "Go talk with him again. Tell me what happens afterward."

"Sure. Anyway, I have a test flight for my F-22 that I need to go to right now. I hope the maintenance chief finally got all the bullets out of her," he said before leaving to the locker room to suit up in his gear.

To Scorch this was much more than a test flight. Gex had already told him that he wouldn't be allowed to fly his F-22 Raptor during the mission. There was no way that the U.S. would even consider the idea of letting an F-22 land at a Chinese air base. Also, if his Raptor somehow went down over Russia it's highly classified technology would fall into the hands of the Russian or Chinese governments. Because of this he was going to be required to fly a different aircraft. If he didn't make it back from the mission this was going to be his last flight in a Raptor.

His Raptor was under armed guard in a hanger located near the other side of the airstrip. As he began to walk to the other side he went by the hangers that housed the Chinese Flankers and the J-20. Several of the Chinese pilots were there with their own maintenance crews checking their aircraft and making sure that they were still in good condition after the long flight from their mainland.

Scorch looked for Feng, but did not see him in the hanger. Just then he noticed that there was a man walking towards him from one of the Il-76 cargo jets parked at the foot of the landing strip. It was Feng. The Chinese aviator walked towards him and said, "Excuse me. I would like to talk to you."

The Raptor pilot stopped walking and looked at Feng. His eyes held the same bitter glare that he had when they had first met.

"Listen," Feng began, "I remember who you are. I don't want there to be any bad blood between us. I'm sorry for your friend. When I fired on him over the Taiwan Straight I was just obeying the orders of my ground controller. I didn't really intend for my missile to kill him, it just ended up that way. Can't we put this behind us?"

Scorch remained still, his bitterness unmoved.

When he got no response Feng asked, "What was his name?"

The American pilot simply walked right by him, brushing shoulders as he did so, and continued to head to his Raptor. "You're not worthy of knowing his name," came the cold reply.

As he was walking away Feng said, "You should keep in mind, you killed two of my men as well."

Scorch stopped dead in his tracks. Amazingly he hadn't even thought about the Su-30 crew that he had decimated when he fought back. In that split second he didn't know how to describe what happened in his mind, except to say that his eyes were opened. His bitterness seemed stupidly selfish. He realized that if he were in the same position as Feng he would have done the exact same thing and that Ben was not dead because this Chinese man wanted him dead, but simply because of the chaos that is war. Not only that, but Feng must have been dealing with the pain of loss as well, maybe even more so. At the same time, he quickly developed a strong respect for Feng as he saw that there was no bitterness in him at all. A few moments passed as all this began to sink in. He looked back and saw that the Chinese man had turned around and started heading to his J-20.

"Ben."

Feng halted, turned back around to face him, and asked "What?"

"His name was Ben Sandrage," Scorch replied with a softer voice. "He was my best friend."

The Chinese pilot nodded and said, "I will remember that name."

"What were the names of your men?"

Feng took a deep breath. His eyes also seemed sad. "My wingmen were Dai Lee and Bo Wulong. They were my best friends."

Scorch extended his hand. "I'm sorry."

"As you Americans say, 'no worries.'" Feng shook his hand.

* * *

**Red Crown: Bet you weren't expecting that to happen! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**** As always, more reviews means the next chapter will come to you sooner!**


	25. The Dark Horses

_"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."_ -Unknown.

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CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: **_"Dark Horses"_**

**Date: August 24, 2015**

**Time: 1238 hours, 12:38 P.M. (Washington D.C. Time)**

**Location: United States, Virginia, Langley Air Force Base**

"Our new jets arrived. Let's go take a look," Tony said to Scorch and Chance as they sat in the briefing room examining maps of the Altai Mountains.

From there he and his wingmen went out to the hangers and saw that the doors were closed. They walked inside one of the side doors to examine their new aircraft and were impressed with what they saw. The maintenance crews on the base had several speakers set up in the hanger so that they could listen to music while they worked. The song "Dark Horses" by Switchfoot started playing the moment they walked inside.

They spotted two Super Hornets, two F-15SE Silent Eagles, and one Typhoon.

These weren't just any Super Hornets. These F/A-18Es had some of the upgrades featured from Boeing's International Road Map upgrade program, which was originally designed for export. These upgrades included conformal fuel tanks that rested on top of the LERX and went back along the spine, a laser and infra-red warning system that was able to provide spherical scanning about the entire aircraft, and brand new engines with a 20% increase in thrust over the older versions used by the U.S. Navy. An IRST sensor was placed under the nose of the jet on the gun bay door and shaped with a stealthy casing. Along with these upgrades was a redesigned glass cockpit that heavily borrowed from the one used on the F-35.

The F-15SE was a heavily modified Strike Eagle that had a redesigned and more stealthy nose cone, conformal tanks that had internal weapons bays for AIM-120 AMRAAM missiles, and canted vertical stabilizers. Radar absorbent materials were applied in crucial areas and the avionics had been entirely overhauled to use modern AESA radar and the latest systems. Like the Super Hornets next to them these Silent Eagles also featured glass cockpits for both the front seater and the back seater.

The Typhoon was a Tranche 3 version that featured AESA radar, MBDA Meteor missile armament, and the next generation PIRATE infra-red scanner.

Standing next to the brand new Eurofighter was Sophie, who no longer needed her crutches and was walking about seemingly fine. She also wore a brand new Royal Air Force flight suit that came with the new supplies from Britain. She was already talking with the maintenance crew and learning as much as she could about the new jet. The Royal Air Force fighter pilot soon turned her head towards the door and smiled once she saw Tony, Scorch, and Chance entering the hanger.

Tony walked over to one of the new upgraded Super Hornets and walked along the fuselage while running his hand along the skin of the jet. This jet was a drastic upgrade of his original fighter aircraft. He patted her on the side and then climbed up the ladder and into the cockpit. He sat down and powered up the batteries, bringing to life the lights and screens in the cockpit. He flipped through several of the digital displays and scanned through the various display options he had available. Everything was easy to use and simple to understand.

Quietly Tony said his first words to the new bird that he was going to fly. "You're a beauty. My last bird was faithful and extremely reliable. Please be the same."

The American aviator looked over to his right and saw that Chance was already in the hanger and had climbed into the cockpit of the other Super Hornet. He was doing the same thing, flipping on the switches and going through all the display modes. "I must say that I feel right at home in one of these," he said to Tony with a smile.

Tony then looked over to the Eurofighter and could see Sophie was in her cockpit as well. Scorch, who was also rated for the F-15E, climbed into the cockpit of the Silent Eagle soon after. For a few minutes they all began getting to know their new aircraft.

The naval aviator looked over to the maintenance chief, who happened to be walking by, and asked, "Are these cleared to fly?"

"Yes, sir," came the reply.

"Then I'm taking her up right now."

With that done Tony quickly went through the check list and closed the canopy. He had enough fuel for 40 minutes of flight. The maintenance personnel opened the hanger doors and allowed the American Naval Aviator to taxi onto the runway. Sophie, Scorch, and Chance quickly followed after him. Right after they took off they couldn't help but notice that a C-2 Greyhound cargo aircraft came into the area and moved to land on the airstrip.

* * *

Pat walked onto the airstrip. The flight in the C-2 had been long and she had slept really hard the whole time, but found herself even more tired after she woke up. As she headed for the main office to check herself into the base she saw that there several warplanes in the sky. She recognized them as two Super Hornets, two Silent Eagles, and a single Typhoon.

"Guess they made it out alive," she said with a smile.

She quickly checked herself in on the base and headed over to her room that she would be staying at on the base. Once she walked inside the barracks she could have swore she heard voices talking in native Chinese. She froze for a second before walking toward one of the doors and seeing two men in military uniforms with Chinese markings and speaking in her native tongue.

_"Am I on the wrong air base?"_ she thought. _"Maybe they were from an international program?"_

She walked into the room and looked at the two men more closely. Surprisingly she recognized one of them.

"Lei Feng, is that you?" she asked in Mandarin Chinese.

Feng turned around and was shocked at who he saw. "Ling?"

"It's so good to see you!" she said as she smiled at him and gave him a hug. "I didn't know that you made it out! How'd you get here? Why are you wearing a People's Liberation Army Air Force uniform?"

"Ling, it's good to see you too. I'm one of the top pilots of the Air Force."

Pat looked at him in horror before releasing him from her embrace. She took a few steps backing away from him. "How could you?" she said. Feng could tell from the expression on her face that she looked like she had been betrayed. "You joined them even after what they did to us? They bombed our home and butchered our entire town. How could you?"

"Ling," Feng said with a soft voice this time. "Our town was sick. They had to be put aside to keep the peace."

"Don't give me that bullshit propaganda. They weren't sick. They took a stand against the corruption in their small local government and wanted a fair system. What they were doing was right and the PRC wiped them out for it. PLAAF jets bombed our house! You disgust me!"

Suddenly the other man in the room said, "You'd be wise to watch what you say." It was then that Pat recognized him. He was wearing the uniform of a PRC political officer. Political officers were members of the Communist Party's heavy controlling arm. They watched over the military branches of the PRC and ensured that all the members of the military were properly educated in the ideas of Communism and Chinese Nationalism. They also ensured that their actions and training always represented the ideas of the Party. They had a lot of power since they spoke for the PRC government and were placed in nearly every unit in all the Chinese military branches. The political officer continued, "Back in your homeland we would shoot traitors who defect like you. If you weren't part of the American military now I'd kill you on the spot."

"America is my home now," Pat said defiantly.

"Please try to understand," Feng pleaded as he reached for her hand. "China must be united at any cost. I lost everything back there too. I still haven't forgotten losing you, Ling."

Pat yanked her hand away from him. "My name is not 'Ling' anymore. I'm 'Patricia Ironheart' now," she said venomously. She then turned towards the door and began to walk out. As she was leaving she coldly demanded, "Don't ever talk to me unless it has to do with business."

* * *

A matter of hours later Gex had all the pilots, including the Chinese, in the briefing room together sitting in the chairs. Gex and Feng were standing in front of them with a projector that had a satellite map of the Altai Mountains. From there he began his brief, "Some of you might be asking why are we doing this and why don't the Chinese conduct the strike entirely on their own? Chinese confidence in their air force for this type of mission, an illegal air space penetration deep strike, is low. Also because of this the Chinese want us to train their pilots and give them valuable knowledge in exchange for them letting us use their air base. They also required that this be a joint strike with the Chinese assisting you as you take out Atlas. Feng and his squadron are going with you when you launch the strike."

Then Feng spoke, "I would like to give you a brief summary of the operational history of myself so you know of my experience. There has only been one attempt at a deep strike mission of this type by my country and it did not succeed. I was part of that mission. We-"

"I was part of that mission too," Scorch said, surprising Feng and everyone in the room with his interruption. "Sorry, continue," he said with a smirk.

To his amazement Feng cracked a smile at Scorch's words before continuing. "We attempted to destroy radar and radio assets along the coast of Taiwan in order to restart talks for reunification. It was defeated when a flight of American aircraft intercepted us. China, Taiwan, and the United States have claimed that what occurred was a mid-air collision over the Taiwan Straight due to an electromagnetic storm interrupting navigation equipment on both sides. Afterwards-"

"I made that cover story too by the way," interrupted Scorch again, causing everyone to look at him once more. "Sorry, continue."

Feng went on. "The strike was attempted by Tiger Squadron of the elite branch of the People's Liberation Army Air Force. We learned several lessons after that, but we still lack the training to conduct an illegal penetration of enemy air space precision strike. My government also wants Atlas gone for fear of Russia becoming too powerful. In exchange for giving you an air base and allowing you to conduct a strike from Chinese soil, your government has agreed to provide us with training to assist you in the strike."

The allied pilots all felt slightly hesitant. It was clear that they would be the ones selected to do the training, but they knew that whatever knowledge they passed on to the Chinese pilots could be used against them should China and the U.S. come into any future conflicts. That wasn't the only risk. If the Chinese mastered the training and spread it to nations that were hostile to the interests of the allied nations it could have grave consequences. Silently, all the allied pilots made an agreement to not teach the Chinese fighter pilots all of their tactics, but only the ones necessary for the mission.

* * *

Tony, Chance, Pat, Sophie, and Scorch headed back out of the briefing room. Nathan followed alongside them in his wheel chair.

"Chance, why didn't you tell me you were an artist? Hey, now you can make our squadron logo!" said Tony.

"Sure. Just give me some ideas and I'll get started," replied the Canadian. "By the way, what's our squadron going to be named?"

Tony started brainstorming in his head. Before he could come up with any good names Scorch confidently said, _"The Dark Horses."_

The others looked at him curiously as they considered the name.

"Where's that from?" asked Sophie.

"A dark horse is something that no one knows about but quickly rises to greatness. I think that fits us and our mission just fine."

Slowly the others nodded their heads in agreement with him.

"The Dark Horses. I like it," Tony replied.

"I've got a good idea of the logo already," Chance stated. He then smirked, "Now we need to pick a squadron beer. I recommend Blue Moon."

"No way. Long Island Ice Tea's are much stronger!" fired back Scorch.

And so began a long argument.

* * *

**Date: August 25, 2015 - September 16th, 2015**

**Location: United States, Virginia, Langley Air Force Base**

Over the next few days the Dark Horses instructed the Chinese Su-30 pilots in the art of the deep penetration strike. They set up practice targets and made them do almost everything. Everything included flying at low altitude and using terrain masking, making a precision weapons strike with a short window of opportunity, and dogfighting their way to and from the target.

The allied pilots intentionally limited themselves in the tactics they taught and in the dogfighting that was conducted. They even went so far as to secretly meet with each other and go over their dogfighting techniques and tactical moves that they were teaching and picked certain things that they decided to leave out of the training given to the Chinese. They had no intention of teaching the Chinese anything that could be used against the U.S. or its allies in the future.

When training with the Chinese they learned several things about them. They did things heavily based off of the old Cold War-Era Soviet model. Overall they were heavily reliant on a ground control station for orders. On a few occasions they took orders from their AWACS, but those orders could be overridden by their ground controller, who didn't have the clearest view of the situation from his little command tent by the airstrip. The Su-30 Flankers that the Chinese brought with them were in fact the Shenyang J-11 B-models. The J-11B was a complete copy of the original Russian Su-30MK Flanker; only it was stuffed with local Chinese electronics. The Chinese avionics were not only inferior to their Russian originals, but also broke down and needed to be replaced more. On top of that the Chinese copies of the Russian equipment were old and of poor quality. The radar was an older model and still used the mechanically scanned array that could not compete with the brand new phased array and active electronically scanned array that both Russia and America were presently using. As a result the medium range PL-12 missiles that the Chinese fighters were armed with didn't have a top notch fire control system. The J-11B was for all practical purposes a Frankenstein in terms of its of origin. In spite of all of this the J-11B was still more maneuverable than all of its western counterparts. Its helmet mounted sights along with the armament of the PL-8 missile still made it a very formidable opponent at close range.

The Chinese pilots were inferior dogfighters, with the only exception being Feng. This was primarily due to a lack of experience with the pilots and in the whole service itself. Among the unspoken spoils of war were experience and wisdom. The Chinese hadn't engaged in a major conflict that required air power for a long time and had gone out of their way to avoid one. They had their chance to fight in the Sino-Vietnamese War of 1978, but for unknown reasons they made an agreement with the Vietnamese to not use air power. One of the suspected reasons was that they didn't want to face the battle-hardened North Vietnamese fighter pilots that had honed their skills when they contended with the US Navy and the USAF for control of the skies during the Vietnam War.

Feng was an exception because he was naturally gifted at flying and had a calm, yet aggressive personality. Scorch took on Feng in an intense one vs. one guns only mock dogfight and quickly discovered that he was by no means rusty since their last encounter. Feng won the first round and Scorch won the second. They were fairly even, but Scorch had trained hard to get to where he was at. Feng was not allowed to train nearly as much due to the Chinese system, which had a lot more pilots to cycle through and was heavily monitored by political officers of the Communist Party.

The J-20 was an entire mystery and the Chinese had brought a few secret police operatives whose only job was to make sure that no one got close to it except Feng. The J-20 was also very maneuverable and had a modern radar. Feng refused to use certain modes on his radar that could be tracked by American equipment on the base. Feng would also not allow the J-20 to use its maximum targeting range. It was clear that, just like the allies, he had received orders from his chain of command to hold back from using the maximum capabilities of the J-20 because they didn't want to give the US too much information on its capabilities.

This of course still didn't stop the CIA from sending some agents with hand held radar guns to point them at the J-20 as it was inflight and try to get a good measure of its radar cross section from different angles. One incident occurred where Feng had taken off and detected he was being tracked by a surface to air radar. He quickly sent a jamming signal that disrupted all the radar equipment on the ground and caused the CIA agents to lose all their data. It wasn't clear if he ever found out who was pointing the radar at him, but he sure wasn't stupid when it came to guessing who the culprits were. Gex immediately was on the phone calling people he knew to get the CIA to leave the J-20 alone since he didn't want them to mess up this partnership. This little incident didn't stop the training though.

During the training all of the allied fighter pilots got to know quite a bit not just about the Chinese, but about each other as well.

At one of their secret meetings in the wardroom their conversation shifted to the subject of what their homes were like. Pat was silent for the most part. Chance came from a family of rich musicians that had tried to make him become a master pianist and hated the idea of him joining the military. Chance grew up with a love for flying and a fascination for all things military. Not only did he join the Royal Canadian Air Force, but he hadn't even told his family about it because he didn't want to worry them.

"They still think I'm taking piano lessons in France," Chance confessed with a small laugh.

Sophie then asked him, "Aren't you worried about what it would be like for them to suddenly find out that you had died in combat? How tragic it would be?"

The Canadian merely shrugged. "Would it be any different for them if I wasn't flying and died in a car accident? I think the impact of my death would hit them hard no matter what. No one has a guarantee that they're going to see tomorrow and I want to at least live my life doing what I love and sending bad guys to hell while I'm at it. As long as my family doesn't know about it they don't have to worry about it."

Sophie seemed a little hesitant to talk about her life at home. While other girls were obsessed with fashion and dolls she was very interested in politics and world affairs. After flying her first plane she quickly fell in love with the sky and wanted to fly for the Royal Air Force to serve her country. Her mother was a teacher and her father was a Royal Navy submarine officer who was obsessed with his job. Eventually this obsession put a heavy strain on their relationship that resulted in her mother having an affair with another man and leaving to go live with him. Other than she either didn't have much else to say, or didn't want to say any more.

Scorch was the spoiled brat of a United States Air Force family of officers and pilots. He had jet fuel in his blood from the moment he was born.

Tony came from an entirely happy California family. His parents were still together after 30 years of marriage and weren't poor, yet weren't rich either. He had a very content upbringing and almost felt spoiled in admitting it. However, as great as life at home was he quickly grew bored of the monotony of things. His love for freedom, his country, and adventure were his primary motivators for joining the service.

One day Tony walked into the wardroom to find Nathan busily typing away on a computer. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I just filled out some applications to get medically qualified for flying fighters again. The doctor's on his way here tomorrow," he replied.

Tony looked at Nathan and hated the next words he was about to say. "Look you're injured and I'm not letting you go on the mission with us."

"What if I'm medically cleared to fly again? I noticed that you have an extra Silent Eagle in that hanger," replied his friend almost pleadingly.

"Those injuries in your thighs alone will take a little more than a month to fully heal and I'm not allowing a wounded pilot onto my team to participate in this mission. What if you pull a high-G turn and you reopen your wounds? You'll lose more blood and black out faster. Did you ever think of that?"

"Yeah, but what if I don't? Will you let me fly with you guys?"

Tony paused for the moment as he began to think it over. Nathan was a good pilot and was battle experienced. He was also a trusted friend and because they had gone to flight school together he would be extremely easy to mesh into the squadron with little time. Time was also very short.

"Come on. Just give me a chance," Nathan said.

"Alright, I'll give you one chance, but I want to see you when you go through the centrifuge and pass nine-G's."

"No problem," Nathan said with a confidence that masked his uncertainty.

"How's Vanya by the way?" asked Tony.

"She's staying on the base for now, at least until her arrangements have been made. The CIA wants her close because of the attempt on her life. They gave her asylum in Florida, my home state. I hope I get to see her again. She's the most amazing and the most beautiful girl I've ever met in my life," Nathan said as his mind seemed to drift. He then looked at Tony and asked, "What about you? Is there a special girl that you always think about?"

Tony hesitated before answering with what he knew was a lie. "No, not really."

Among the other developing relationships on the base Tony felt this bizarre gravitational pull towards Sophie. He started liking her not just as a fellow squadron member, but also as a man likes a woman. He had no idea what Sophie was feeling. He tried his best to steel himself and not show what was going on with his feelings whatsoever. Romantic relationships between warfighters in combat were a mire of murky, messy territory. He would rather keep things simple where nothing was official and no one's deep desires were exposed. Unfortunately, hiding his feelings was becoming increasingly difficult with each passing day. The fact that they were all becoming closer as a squadron didn't help him much at all.

On a Sunday morning Tony walked into a nearby church that he liked, took a seat in the back row near the aisle, and sat down holding his head in his hands. Leadership for this task was a heavy burden and he found himself going to church more. He remained in that same spot even as the service ended and people were leaving the church. Unexpectedly a young woman stopped next to him on her way out of the church and said with a British accent, "I didn't know you went here."

Tony nearly jumped out of his seat from surprise when he realized it was Sophie. Not only was it Sophie, but it was Sophie in a beautiful white summer dress with white nylons, and white Mary-Jane shoes. Her face was decorated with a light shade of well placed make up that complimented her lively green eyes and elegant facial features. She literally looked like an angel. "Hi, Sophie!" he said slightly startled. "How are you?"

"I'm great. Are you doing alright? You looked a little distressed just now."

Tony relaxed and stood up from his seat. His piercing brown eyes seemed to fall down to his hands and a look of shear worry was on his face. "I don't know if I can do this," he said.

"Do what?" she asked concerned.

"Lead this mission," he replied.

"I think you're doing a good job so far."

"I also have a really bad feeling about this whole thing. I feel like I might not be coming back from this one, like it might be my last."

He then felt Sophie's comforting hand rest on his shoulder. "Lots of warriors have had that feeling before a battle and have come back alive. I think you'll be fine. Just remember no matter the circumstances I've got your six o'clock."

Tony looked back up towards her and their eyes met. He could feel Sophie's soft, slender hand slowly make its way from his shoulder to his neck, then start to caress the side of his face. For a quiet moment they stared into each others eyes. Then at the same instant they both broke away.

"Um, we should be getting back now. I'm sure the Chinese are waiting for that next briefing and we're almost late," said Sophie as she broke eye contact and took a few steps back from him.

"Yeah, let's go," Tony quickly agreed before speedily walking in the opposite direction of her, all the while thinking to himself,_ "Why is this so hard?"_

* * *

**Red Crown: You all probably hate me for the long time it took to update, but here it is! I had a lot of tests in the past few days and they have been playing havoc with my life. To those of you that reviewed THANK YOU. I was also suffering from a major case of writer's block and your reviews motivated me to get through it. Again, your reviews inspire me to write more and always help me bring you the next chapter. I wish you all a Merry Christmas!**


	26. Heart of Ice

_"I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy."_ -John Adams

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: **_"Heart of Ice"_**

**Date: August 25, 2015 - September 16th, 2015**

**Location: United States, Virginia, Langley Air Force Base**

Pat was absolutely frustrated. At the moment she was acting as Scorch's WSO for a Silent Eagle. It was an easy transfer from being the RIO of an EA-18G since the glass cockpit made everything easy to understand and both aircraft were made by the same manufacturer. However, Scorch was used to flying a single-seat aircraft. The F-15SE was more advanced than the F-15E. If the pilot had excellent focus and the ability to multitask he could fully and effectively take control of all the weapons. Scorch often did this and it annoyed the hell out of Pat, who didn't want to sit in the back and simply be a passenger. She asked Scorch to teach her how to fly the F-15SE so she could use the other one in the hanger, but on top of all the other training he had to do with the Chinese he just refused. She was rated for the F/A-18E/F Super Hornet, but Gex was having trouble getting another one for the squadron so for now she was stuck being a WSO.

One day she was walking over to the airstrip waiting for Tony to land so she could complain. She saw Sophie talking with one of the British maintenance crew in a hanger with her Eurofighter Typhoon. However, it was then that the unhappy WSO realized there was a second Eurofighter on the tarmac. Curious as to where the second Typhoon came from she walked over to Sophie and asked, "Why is there a second Typhoon here? Is it flyable?"

Sophie responded, "The other one is a spare. We've kept it in one of the hangers for a few days since it had a huge oil leak and took forever to fix. It's a Tranche 2, but it's good to fly. Why do you ask?"

"Think you can teach me how fly it?"

"Sure. When do you want to start?"

"Whenever you're ready."

"I can show you a few quick things right now actually. Follow me," Sophie said as she dropped what she was doing and they both went over to the British fighter.

Pat climbed into the cockpit and Sophie began introducing her to the various displays, the voice control, and the radar. Right in the middle of this Tony and Chance landed and walked back from their Super Hornets. They happened to be walking by the scene. As they walked by Pat stood up in the cockpit and assertively said to Tony, "Listen, Tony, I refuse to fly with Scorch any longer! That selfish prick is too controlling and I can do a whole lot more than be his passenger!"

Tony, who was aware of the whole situation, merely nodded in understanding and replied, "I've been watching. I know what you mean. Are you going to try to fly that Typhoon then?"

"Yes, and I'll have it mastered in a few days," came the confident reply.

"Good. I'm going out in town now. I wasn't able to get lunch when the mess hall was open and the restaurant on base isn't open either. I'll be back in an hour."

Sophie suddenly spoke. "Wait, Tony. You don't need to go out. I bought you a turkey sandwich from Subway when I went out. No mayonnaise just like you like. It's in your barracks."

"Oh," Tony said, slightly flustered. "Thank you, Sophie. You did great in the exercise today by the way."

"No problem. It's a habit," the Englishwoman said smiling in response.

With that Tony and Chance headed back to the briefing room and prepared to critic their own flight.

As they were leaving Pat gave Sophie a very inquisitive look. The Royal Air Force pilot soon noticed the look she was receiving. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you have a thing for Tony?"

Sophie's eyes widened for a brief moment. It was the slightest sign of discomfort, but it was a sign nonetheless. "Define 'a thing.'"

"You bought him lunch? I don't see you doing that for the rest of us. I could use a lunch right now too you know."

"What I do with my spare time is none of your business," Sophie replied as she was clearly trying to dodge this conversation.

"You like him," Pat teased.

"No, I don't," came a defensive reply. "I just saw he wasn't going to make it to mess in time and thought it would be nice for him to have a lunch right after his debrief."

"Great. So now you're watching his schedule too? Come on. You can tell me. I can keep a secret. You so like him," Pat teased again.

Sophie merely looked over at Tony as he headed to the barracks and watched his back. A sigh escaped her lips. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't seem interested or he's withholding because he wants to focus on the mission right now. If that's the case, I think it's the right decision too. Honestly, I'm not even sure if he has a girlfriend already."

Pat slyly smirked. "I went to flight school with him. I know he doesn't. I think you should go for it and see what happens. If this mission goes south it could be your last chance."

"Do you want me to teach you how to fly this Typhoon or not?" Sophie replied, effectively changing the subject.

The Eurofighter was a very user friendly aircraft. Sophie was swiftly able to teach Pat how to adapt to it and utilize it in air-to-air and precision strike modes. True to her word, Pat was proficient in a short matter of days and was soon regularly flying the Typhoon with the squadron.

After conducting several simulations of the strike on various locations Atlas could be stationed it was clear to Tony that two more aircraft in the strike group were needed for more air cover should they come into contact with a squadron of enemy fighters. One of those aircraft was already compensated for with Pat flying a Eurofighter, but another one was still needed. This was bad because finding a new pilot and teaching him the tactics as well as inserting him into the team was a task that they did not have time for. There was also an extra Silent Eagle in the hanger, but no one had been assigned to it yet and it was currently being kept as a spare.

For Nathan this situation made him more motivated than ever to get better. He decided to rest for the first 17 days since the Resolution had been passed, then try his hand at the physical part of the evaluation. The US Air Force pilot healed remarkably fast, but he still wasn't fully healed. However, he kept this from the doctor and was able to pass 9-Gs in the centrifuge. To even Tony's amazement, Nathan re-qualified to be a fighter pilot.

Once he showed Tony the final papers he was welcomed into the squadron and assigned to fly the spare F-15SE. Nathan was able to walk and move fairly well; however, the holes in his thighs weren't completely closed. He was slightly worried. They didn't reopen any further when he went to 9-G's, partially because he had used athletic tape to hold them shut. He figure that if he did the same thing during the actual mission he would be fine. They still hurt a lot in spite of the fact he was qualified.

One sunny afternoon Vanya approached Nathan as he was climbing down from his Silent Eagle. He climbed down the ladder slowly because of the pain.

"Nathan, I just got my arrangements made in Florida. The CIA gave me short notice and I'm leaving in an hour. I just wanted to see how you are doing before I left," the espionage artist said.

The Air Force pilot quickly felt his mood drop. "I'm doing great. I'm fully healed," the American pilot lied as he walked to her.

"Don't even begin trying to lie to me. I'm a professional at it and I can smell one before it's even been made."

"Okay, I'm a little less than great. I'm just fine," he replied.

"You're in a lot of pain and you need to talk to a doctor before you go on this mission,"

"I talked to the doctor already. Had to trick him into thinking I feel great," he said with a smile.

"No. You know what I mean," she said frustrated. "If your injury slows you down you might put the others in danger as well as yourself."

"It won't slow me down and I won't put them in danger," he replied serious this time. "They're going to need me for this mission and I'm the best option they have."

"But why you?"

"Because I'm the best pilot that can do it. I'm trained. I'm experienced. And I'm better at it than anyone else available. I also know the team and how they fly. There isn't time to get another guy here and teach him how the squadron operates. This mission is too important for a pilot of less quality."

Vanya walked closer to him and her hands reached up to clench the cloth on his chest. "I believe that. Just promise me you'll make it back to Florida in one piece. I have few friends there as it is and I'd hate to lose-"

Before she could finish her sentence Nathan sealed her lips with a tender kiss. The Russian spy froze with surprise for a moment, but then pulled him closer and quickly started kissing him back. Nathan wrapped his arms around her waist. Both of them closed their eyes as they deepened the intense contact. When they broke away Nathan looked her in the eyes and merely said, "Sorry, I've been thinking of doing that all day. I'll see you in Florida."

Just then two men in black suits from the CIA walked into the hanger. "Excuse me, miss. I hate to interrupt, but we need to go. There is a tight schedule we must follow," one of them said.

Reluctantly Vanya let go of Nathan and went with the two men. She turned around and looked longingly at him. "You have my email and my number. I'll see you in Florida."

"Yeah, I'll see you in Florida," Nathan responded. Then as Vanya walked away he added in a low whisper, "...I hope."

* * *

**Date: September 16th, 2015**

**Time: 1922 hours, 7:22 P.M. (Moscow Time)**

**Location: Southern Russia, Russian Federation Airstrip near Volgograd**

It was slightly windy and scattered clouds had formed in the skies. The sun was just beginning to dip down below the horizon.

Krylov put on his flight helmet and walked out of the locker towards his aircraft. The Su-50 was primed and ready for another bout with the mercenary squadrons. A smirk graced his lips as he looked at the fuselage and saw that he had done a good job of painting his personal insignia behind the cockpit. He had made a little modification to his personal insignia and had painted the originally white lines of the black queen chess piece in blood red paint. He also used the blood red color to add an outline around the black star. If the Americans had designated him the _"_Red Czar" he wanted to have something to show his approval of the moniker.

He looked off into the distance as the sun was just disappearing below the horizon. It now looked like a hemisphere that was slowly decreasing in size. The sky turned red around the horizon. A layer of distant dark blue clouds rested below a pale whitish-blue sky.

The scene reminded him of a long lost memory. He reached into his flight suit and pulled out a picture. It was the only picture that he could not bring himself to destroy earlier with the other materials that were packaged alongside his journal. The picture was taken on what he could easily consider the best day of his life. He was standing next to Natasha under a mistletoe that was hanging above a communication line in Sudan. The sun was setting in the background and there was the silhouette of a MiG-29 behind them. The date printed on the bottom of the camera was Christmas Day and they were both kissing.

* * *

**_Date: December 25th, 2002_**

**_Time: 1743 hours, 5:42 P.M. (East Africa Time)_**

**_Location: Sudan, Sudanese Air Force base north of Khartoum_**

_The picture was snapped by a camera held by Suvorov. "There, I've taken your picture. I think it came out well," he said. In a matter of moments the camera expelled the picture on a small piece of paper and Suvorov handed it to Natasha, who smiled with joy as she examined it._

_Just then Fedorov came by and told Suvorov that they needed to load up and get ready for the next operation of the day. Suvorov quickly left._

_Krylov and Natasha headed back to the hanger that had their MiG-29's in it to finish their last maintenance checks since they had finished all their sorties for the day. As they walked back to the hanger Krylov began to worry. It was Christmas Day, the sun was setting, and he still hadn't been able to find a good gift to give to Natasha. The fact that he was in Sudan, where markets seldom sold good gifts for a woman pampered by a powerful father in the FSB, didn't help much. He began to brainstorm for a good solution to his problem._

_It was then that he got an idea. While Natasha went to check on her MiG-29. He sprinted back to his barracks, grabbed a book, and ran back to the hanger. When Natasha wasn't looking he put the book on her cockpit seat on top of a small paper pad that she always used to write down crucial numbers pertaining to flight characteristics during combat. Discretely he went back to conduct his own maintenance checks. When Natasha finally reached for her pad she stopped._

_"Sergei, some how your journal ended up in my cockpit," she called over to him._

_"I know. I put it there. You always keep telling me that I'm too mysterious and you want to know more about how I think. I've written quite a great deal of my personal thoughts in that journal since flight school and the following past three years. I've never let anyone else read it. So, that's my Christmas gift to you," he said._

_She smiled brightly in response. "I wonder if there's anything about me in here. You know I'm going to read this from cover to cover," she said as if to warn him._

_"I know. I'm okay with that. Just don't talk to Fedorov about anything you read. He would kill me," he replied with a small laugh._

_Her smile grew ever brighter. "I'll have your Christmas present ready after your maintenance checks." She then playfully batted him on the forehead with the journal. "I just finished mine so I'll see you soon." With that she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and walked off to her own barracks._

_Krylov finished making sure that his MiG-29 was in good condition, then headed back into his own barracks to grab another bottle of vodka. Unfortunately he had run out of the good brands of vodka and now he was left with only the low quality ones that he had. As he opened his cooler he saw a message on top of his keyboard written in Natasha's hand writing. He picked it up and saw that it read to go to her barracks at exactly 2200. He looked at his watch and noticed that it was 2017, which gave him enough time to shower and write his final reports of the day. Shortly after those tasks were accomplished he headed for Natasha's barracks not knowing what to expect. Natasha made him so happy that even if she gave him a small gift he would not care at all. He absolutely loved just being close to her._

_He knocked on the door and heard a welcoming, "Come on in," from Natasha. Krylov walked in and what he saw surprised him. The lights were off and only several candles tactfully placed in abstract locations about her small barracks provided dim illumination. He spotted Natasha's small plastic Christmas tree. The small tree was hanging by a wire from the ceiling and wrapped in a single string of colored lights with a bright red star on top. Under the Christmas tree Natasha was laying on her bed wearing her perfume, make up, and a very revealing silk red nightgown. Next to the bed were several bottles of the finest vodka, each wet with dew to show they had been chilled. "Merry Christmas, Comrade," she said with her seductive voice._

_That night Natasha gave herself to him, all of herself. And Krylov loved her with all his strength._

* * *

Krylov was snapped out of his memory by the sound of a jet engine powering up. He looked over and saw that it belonged to the Pakistanis as they prepared their jets for the exercise.

The Russian took one last look at the picture in his hand before he pulled out a lighter. He licked the bottom of the photograph with a small fire until it began to consume the photo. He watched the flames destroy his past memory and turn them to black ashes that were quickly blown away in the wind. Now his only embrace was for that of revenge and he loved it that way. "Dasvidanya, Natasha. I will avenge you," he said as he watched the ashes fly away.

Getting rid of the things that gave him emotions was the first step to dehumanizing himself. Dehumanization was needed for men to kill without conscious or remorse. It removed their own identity. A dehumanized human could kill anyone, even innocent civilians, without the slightest sign of weakness and Krylov had purposefully been doing this to himself since his time in Sudan. The act of killing itself was dehumanizing to some level. At this moment he wondered how Tony was coping with the shock of killing. That ever dehumanizing shock had the power to turn warm hearts to ice. Krylov had given himself over to it, but Tony was extremely naive. The Russian ace wondered how long it would take for the effect to engage or if Tony really was strong enough to keep his heart pure despite the shock.

* * *

**Date: September 16th-18th, 2015**

**Time: 0538 hours, 5:38 A.M. (Washington D.C. Time)**

**Location: United States, Virginia, Langley Air Force Base**

All the pilots were grateful that the weather was clear for the next few days. These days were important because they were the last days of training before the flight to China's air base near the Altai Mountainous region. From intelligence reports and satellite photos of the location of Atlas it was possible that the Russian Federation Air Force could have some stealthy Su-50 fighters stationed near Atlas. None of the pilots in the Dark Horses had much experience fighting against stealth fighters. Because of this Tony had teamed up with Scorch and Nathan to work really hard at getting the United States Navy to send six F-35C Lighting II stealth fighters to the base so that the Dark Horses could practice against them.

The amount of paperwork needed to get the stealth fighters there was a nightmare. They started the process twenty days beforehand, but in the end they failed in their efforts and Gex had to pull a few strings to get the fighters to the base in time. Despite Gex' efforts he never got permission from the USN to allow the F-35C pilots to take on the Chinese. The USN didn't want to risk even the slightest bit of knowledge on how to counter stealth fighters being given to the PLAAF. The Chinese were told they had to remain grounded and could not fly at the same time the F-35Cs were flying.

As the Dark Horses began to familiarize themselves with fighting against the F-35 they soon realized that it was highly formidable at long range and high altitude. It was extremely difficult to detect on radar and this forced all of the Dark Horses to fight relying entirely on their IRST and PIRATE sensors. The F-15SE didn't even have an internal IRST sensor and was found to be useless when it came to even tracking the F-35C. If any of the pilots mounted weapons externally their radar signature would increase and make them vulnerable to the F-35. The Typhoon could only mount its weapons externally. They couldn't even detect the time the F-35C pilots had fired their shots. The only jet capable of matching the F-35 was the Super Hornet with the International Road Map upgrades.

They also found the many faults of the Lightning II. Like the Raptor, F-35s were highly complex and extremely maintenance intensive. They were also very expensive to operate and maintain.

The Super Hornet International Road Map was essentially a Block III Super Hornet with a different name. When the Block III Super Hornet had no weapons under its wings, a stealthy weapons pod mounted on its centerline station, and two Sidewinders it was nearly just as good as the F-35. In that configuration it even had a frontal radar cross section that was roughly equivalent in stealth to that of the F-35's. The stealthy weapon's pod for the Block III Super Hornet could hold two bombs and two AIM-120s, just the same as the F-35's internal weapons bay. The Super Hornet Block III also had nearly the same long range lethality with the AIM-120 that the F-35 had. The only advantage that the F-35 possessed was that it was stealthy from both its front and its sides. When it was taken into account that for the price of 1 F-35B or 1 F-35C the US could buy 3 Block II Super Hornets and cheaply upgrade them to Block III's Tony thought that the F-35 did not deliver nearly the capability that it cost. Tony also thought it was an extremely poor decision to buy them for the services since it greatly decreased the number of warplanes in each service and increased the expenses spent on each aircraft without a proportional increase in performance. The upgraded Super Hornet was also easier to maintain than any F-35 and could be kept ready for combat in the field nearly twice as often at a cheaper price since its designers had reliability in mind when they made it. Newer aircraft weren't always better.

In comparison to the Block III Super Hornet the F-35C was inferior at close range. Not only did it not have a gun, but it was not as agile or maneuverable as the F/A-18E Block III. The F-35 was designed to rely on the AIM-9X-2 Sidewinder, which was a missile that had all aspect view capability and could even be launched at an enemy that was behind the firing jet. However, it couldn't carry the AIM-9X-2 in its internal weapons bays and when it was loaded on the wingtip stations it increased the radar signature. During the exercises the F-35s often didn't have the AIM-9X-2 attached to maintain stealth and whenever the Dark Horses got in at close range they found the F-35 couldn't defend itself at all. The advanced helmet that provided the all-around view through infra-red cameras to the F-35 pilot also blurred when the pilot turned his head fast, which was something the pilot needed to do often in combat and was also necessary to direct the AIM-9X-2 to its target. The simpler JHMCS on the Block III Super Hornet did not have this problem and IR scanners placed about the aircraft provided accurate information at high speed. The F-35 also had an extremely hot engine that showed up on IR sensors like a roman candle. Once it was found with an IRST or PIRATE sensor it was hard to lose. As if to make matters worse for the F-35, it couldn't outrun the F/A-18E, the F-15SE, or the Typhoon, much less a Flanker.

Overall, Tony considered the training against the F-35Cs a failure with small successes. He found that if he knew where the stealthy fighters generally were he could point his nose toward them and use his stealthy frontal RCS to keep himself from being detected. This would eventually close the distance so that his IRST could detect and track the F-35C without it noticing. From there he could get into close range to achieve a kill with the AIM-9X-2. The problem was finding where the fighters generally were or knowing if they were even in the area to begin with. The only way he could find this out in a combat situation would be if his flight detected a missile launch and tracked the direction the missile was coming from with their RWR. By then it was almost too late.

Another method was to use terrain masking, which did in fact prove to be reliable in keeping them hidden from the F-35C's systems. In one of the fights Tony and Chance were able to use terrain masking to get in close and kill all of the F-35Cs with Sidewinders, which the Lighting II's didn't have on them at the time and they couldn't use the AMRAAM missile in a close dogfight. They didn't even have the gun to defend themselves at close range so Tony almost felt like he was shooting ducks. The F-35C was really under armed in a stealthy configuration.

At the same time the Dark Horses were training, they had to keep in mind that the Russian PAK-FA didn't have any of the weaknesses of the F-35. The Su-50 was both more agile and more maneuverable than the F-22 and could also keep its stealth by being internally armed with IR-guided R-74MEs. The PAK-FA also had a rearward scanning radar and high end IR sensor. They each made a mental note to keep these in mind should they encounter a real Su-50.

Because he and his squadronmates hadn't been able to develop an effective tactic to defeat stealth fighters of the PAK-FA's caliber that resulted in at least a kill ratio over 1-1 for his whole squadron it was a failure. This didn't change the mission. It was still going to happen anyway.

Gex had an aircraft paint crew show up to repaint the Dark Horses squadron aircraft. It was clear that they shouldn't have the American, British, or Canadian markings on them so the first thing they did was start stripping the markings off. As they did this Gex asked the squadron what they wanted for a paint scheme, but before they could think of anything Chance asked them all into the briefing room.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time. I've looked at the Altai region on Google Earth and found that this would be the best paint scheme for our mission," he said as he pulled out a large roll of construction paper. The Royal Canadian Air Force pilot leaned it against one side of the wall at the front of the room before unraveling it for display.

Drawn in extreme detail on the long roll of construction paper were all their fighters from different views, each painted with the same unique scheme. The nose cone and the bottom of their aircraft were still painted in the classic shades of gun-metal grey that their respective services used. On the top of their aircraft was a digital camouflage pattern that started behind the nose cone and went all the way back. The digital camo pattern was recognizable as that of the United States Marine Corps' woodland MARPAT scheme, which consisted of light brown, coyote brown, forest green, and black.

This was one of the most effective paint schemes that had been borrowed from a WWII era idea that if the plane was being looked at from the ground only the grey would be seen, which was difficult to pick out against the sky. If it was being looked at from above by an enemy aircraft its camo scheme would make it difficult to visually identify against the ground. In the modern era, such color schemes were often seen on fighters whose air forces operated within a specific region; for example, fighters that primarily worked in the Middle East usually held desert camo paint schemes, while those over jungle areas, like Vietnam, almost always held green and brown. Overall, Tony thought it looked good and was definitely effective at lowering their visible profile, as well as make the fighters truly appear to be mercenary aircraft as opposed to anything that operated from America, Canada or Britain.

It was then that they noticed at the very end of the paper was Chance's final painting of the squadron logo. In the center of a medieval-styled shield was the silhouette of a black horse with the Grim Reaper riding it and holding a flaming scythe high as if he was about to slash someone. The squadron logo was in low visibility paint on the left side of the tail and on top of the right wing of every jet. Below the squadron logo was the motto, written out in a banner, that he had selected: _"Beaten up, broken down, kicked in, spit out, and still fighting better than you."_

"I like it," Tony said.

"Me too," added Scorch.

"Wait a minute?" said Sophie as she walked up to the paper and pulled out a pencil. She went up to one of the Typhoons on the paper and quickly drew her personal insignia on the fuselage, a milk box with the phrase "Got Wingman?" below it. As she put her pencil away she stated, "Now I approve."

Inspired by Sophie, all the pilots began to walk to their respective fighters and draw their own personal insignias. Scorch drew an enflamed skull and crossbones. Chance made a very detailed smashed and broken piano to show his distaste for the instrument since it had been forced on him from birth. Nathan made two joker cards. Pat put a heart made out of riveted iron.

Tony had no idea what to put on his jet. Just then his conversation with Krylov came to mind and as well as his words, "...there are no such things as white knights..." Tony immediately knew what he wanted. He made a black circle with the unicode symbol of the white knight chess piece centered.

When they were finished Chance took the large roll of paper and handed it to the painting crew, who immediately began the night long work on the aircraft.

* * *

**Red Crown: I did not plan on having Krylov's Christmas scene up during the Holiday season, but somehow it ended up that way. Looking back on this chapter, I think it was too... romantic? Maybe "mushy" is the word I'm looking for and I still have more planned. I'll try to disperse the mushiness since I know this is an action-based story. Remember to review if you want me to update or even if it's just to complain about the mushiness!**


	27. Bloody Hands

_"Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few."_ -Winston Churchill

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: **_"Bloody Hands"_**

**Date: September 19th, 2015**

**Time: 0427 hours, 4:27 A.M. (Washington D.C. Time)**

**Location: United States, Virginia, Langley Air Force Base**

The U.N. Resolution was only a few days away from being enforced on September 21st at exactly 1800. The sun was still down and the skies were still clear. Today the_ Dark Horses_ were going to make the long flight halfway across the world to the Altai Mountains. All their jets were loaded with maximum fuel tanks for the ferry across the Pacific. The paint schemes came out nicely and their personal insignia's came out looking good as well.

Tony sat on the leading edge root of his F/A-18E mentally preparing himself for the mission as best as he could. While he did this the maintenance crew had the rap song "Like Toy Soldiers" by Eminem playing. The lyrics fit the mood of the moment:

_I'm supposed to be the soldier who never blows his composure_  
_Even though I hold the weight of the whole world on my shoulders_  
_I am never supposed to show it, my crew ain't supposed to know it_  
_Even if it means goin' toe to toe with a Benzino it don't matter_

_I'd never drag them in battles that I can handle unless_  
_I absolutely have to I'm supposed to set an example_  
_I need to be the leader, my crew looks for me to guide 'em_  
_If some shit ever just pop off, I'm supposed to be beside 'em_

In a short matter of time both the _Dark Horses_ and the Chinese squadron were loaded up and flying toward China.

* * *

**17 hours later...**

******Location: People's Republic of China, 15,000 feet over the Altai Mountainous region**

The strike group finally had flown over the Pacific and made it half way across the world over to China. This was by far the longest flight that any of them had undertaken in their careers. They were all exhausted and hungry due to the limited amount of food items they could take with them in the cockpit. Each of them had been given an MRE, but they had burned through them in the flight.

"This is our landing point," said Feng

It was then they realized they had finally made it over the Altai region, but as they looked around they saw no airstrips around. All they could see were miles of mountains.

"Um, where's our landing point? I don't even see an airstrip," asked Scorch.

"Follow me," replied Feng.

They all watched closely as Feng descended. He put his J-20 down into a valley and headed straight for the face of a mountain. To their surprise they looked to the left of the mountain face and saw a large arch that was naturally formed between two mountains and a bizarre wide, flat strip of land had been artificially made by construction beneath it. It naturally hid the airstrip from a satellite. Crew quarters and a tower had been built right into the rightside mountain.

Feng landed on the airstrip below and came to a halt before turning his J-20 off to the side. All of his squadron followed him one by one. Then it was _The Dark Horses'_ turn. Afterwards came their cargo aircraft: the two Chinese IL-76s that had been with Feng's squadron and two C-17s that the USAF had provided to carry the weapons, fuel, spare parts, and other gear needed for the allied aircraft to carry out the mission. Lastly to land was an E-3 Sentry AWACs that was going to be used for the mission. They had received tanker support from the Chinese to reach their distance.

Once they had landed all of the pilots were taken to a nearby small building where they were assigned barracks on the base and given various administrative information about the base, such as the location of the mess hall, the briefing room, and the wardroom. The rest of today and tomorrow would be for the purpose of giving all the pilots rest for the mission.

As they walked into the crew quarters they saw a map that had China colored in light red and the nations of the Russian-Islamic Empire colored in dark gray. It was then that they realized the threat that was posed to the Chinese. The Empire surrounded China's north and western borders, appearing as if to encircle it.

At the moment all of the pilots were extremely hungry. When they walked to the mess they found a bland concrete structure. Upon entering it they discovered that the inside was somewhat dreary. Various Communist propaganda posters decorated certain key areas. All the walls were mostly painted in pale slate. In classic Socialist-style everything was the same. Once they finally got to the mess hall they found several rows of wooden tables with wooden benches. The only thing with any extravagance of design was to the left of the mess tables in the kitchen area. The kitchen had red tiles on its walls and floor.

They each grabbed a tray and stood in line for their meal, which happened to be a healthy set of vegetables, white rice, and chicken cooked in a special sauce. As they all took a seat Nathan said, "Everything in here looks the god damn same. Why is Communism so boring?"

The allied pilots all tried to hide a snicker at the joke so as not to offend the Chinese. To their surprise the Chinese also laughed at his comment. "If we were allowed to we would put up pictures of pretty women on the walls," said one of the Chinese WSOs, causing another laugh to erupt from the group.

As the day progressed they had a few short briefs to mentally rehearse the strike plan. The plan was simple: A satellite had continued to track the Atlas until the Russians took it through a series of underground roads. The American spy satellites had determined the locations of the four S-400 batteries in the area. They were spread out and formed a square that was 90 miles at each side. They had decided to designate the square as "Kill Box Zero-Omega." It was highly likely that the Atlas Laser's firing location was going to be somewhere in that Kill Box.

The underground roads ran throughout the mountains in the Russian area of the Altai. The only way that they would know it's location for certain would be the moment it fired its first shot and the beam of light became visible and traceable by a satellite in space. However, there was huge risk in this plan. They didn't know how fast the Atlas could fire, but if it had a sufficient cooling system and power supply it could have a high rate of fire and kill all the satellites before they could guide the strike group to it.

Once the first shot was fired and the Atlas Laser was located the_ Dark Horses_ and the Chinese squadron would take off. Just like in Iran, they would take a path at low altitude through the mountains using terrain masking to keep themselves hidden from Russian radar. The Chinese would then split away to the west side of the Kill Box and take out the two S-400's. The_ Dark Horses_ would split away to the east side of the Kill Box and take out the other two S-400's. Feng would then come into the Kill Box with his J-20 at high altitude and launch two supersonic cruise missiles at the target.

The S-400's were the primary threat. They could not only find and kill Feng's J-20, but also kill the supersonic cruise missiles as well.

There was also an airbase 120 miles up northwest from the edge of the Kill Box. The base had one squadron of Su-27SM2 Flankers. The Su-27SM2 was a drastic upgrade of the baseline Su-27 Flanker, featuring a powerful phased array radar, upgraded engines, a sensitive IRST, and modern avionics. At 237 miles in the east was another air base that had two squadrons of MiG-31M Foxhounds, which were armed with the R-37M missile. The R-37M was a long range air-to-air missile that could hit a target 220 nautical miles away and had a top speed of mach 6.

Most of the Russian combat aircraft had been sent into the Middle East to enforce U.N. Resolution 2441. The air bases weren't currently on alert status and it wasn't clear if the pilots were even present, but they knew that if the Russian fighters scrambled during the mission they could quickly get within enough distance to start a fight.

A Chinese IL-78 tanker would follow the strike group and provide them with fuel before they went into Russian air space. The Chinese had also brought their own AWACS aircraft that had been parked on the air base and was waiting for them. It was a KJ-2000, which in itself was a complete copy of the Russian A-50 Mainstay AWACS.

The _Dark Horses _had asked for their own AWACS to accompany them. They told the Chinese it was part of their standard operations, but the ultimate truth was that they didn't think the Chinese AWACS crew was as efficient or as skilled as their own, especially if their AWACS was used to taking orders from a ground controller that was miles away from the operation.

The radio callsign selected for each of them was Horseman 1 and Horseman 2 for Tony and Chance, while Horseman 3 and 4 were Sophie and Pat. Horseman 5 and 6 were Scorch and Nathan. The Chinese went with the radio callsign Dragon 1 for Feng and the rest of the numbers went with his squadron.

Later in the afternoon after they finished their final recap of the mission Scorch was walking back to his barracks and Feng came up next to him. "I think I have the most dangerous part of this mission. I can rely on you right?"

Scorch looked at him and could see the worry on his face. "I'll be sure to kill those S-400's for you."

"Thank you," Feng replied.

"Man, I could really use a drink right now," Scorch said thinking out loud.

"Our military is very strict with alcohol. That's why you need to sneak it in like this," Feng then pulled out a hard cover book from one of the pockets on his flight suit. He opened it up and revealed that a square had been cut into each of the pages, which made a small hollow space inside of the book. In the center was a small metal container. Feng then pulled it out and offered it to him.

The former USAF pilot cracked a smirk at Feng's method. "You know, Feng, I think if we met under different circumstances we could have been real good friends." Scorch unscrewed the top off and took a drink. He found it extremely humorous that he and Feng had both killed eachother's best friends and they were able to get along so well.

Tony saw the little exchange between Feng and Scorch. It relieved him to know that they had dropped whatever it was that was in their past. The U.S. Navy pilot headed back to his Super Hornet on a small patch of concrete. He remembered that he needed to reprogram some of the GPS information into one of his computers for the location of the S-400s. After he plugged the right information in he relaxed and leaned his head against the seat of his cockpit.

Unexpectedly a lot of the exhaustion from the flight to China caught up with him at that moment. He fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

**_Location: Tony's Dream_**

_Tony found himself back in Greece. He was sitting across from Krylov in the stuffy Greek brig._

_Krylov had that familiar smirk on his face. "I knew you were just like me. You enjoy killing and now you are about to take part in that same pleasure again."_

_"I'm not like you. I only kill when it's necessary."_

_"No, you kill because you can. Take a look at your hands."_

_Tony looked down at his hands and saw that they were drenched with blood. He immediately stood up from his chair and backed away from the table._

_"Your lust for blood is just as strong as mine," the Russian pilot said._

_"I decide who I am! I have a choice!" Tony fired back._

* * *

Suddenly he woke up to the sensation of someone shaking him by the shoulder. When he opened his eyes he saw that the sun had set long ago. Not a cloud was in the sky and the moon was bright. Few lights on the base were on and the stars in the heavens were very visible. The air was crisp.

He looked next to him and found that Sophie was standing on the retractable ladder and had been trying to shake him awake. "Tony, wake up!" Once she saw that he was up and alert she stopped. "You were having a nightmare again weren't you?"

"Yeah," he replied before climbing out of the cockpit.

"Are you going to be alright?" asked the British pilot as they both stood on solid ground.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just need to go back to sleep."

"I was just on my way back because I left something in my Typhoon. I saw you moaning in your sleep and decided to wake you."

Tony looked into her eyes and was surprised to see just how beautifully the moonlight illuminated her face. Sophie's lively green eyes looked like they were glowing. At that moment Tony began to appreciate all that Sophie was and all that she had done for him. "Thanks, Sophie. You've been there a lot for me. You've been watching out for my six and pulling me out of my nightmares. You're support has made me well... I really don't think I'd be doing as good as I am through all this without you. You've come to mean so much to me in more ways than one."

Sophie merely smiled and blushed. It was then that her conversation with Pat came to mind. This seemed like a golden opportune moment. The British pilot took a deep breath to calm herself. She then walked up to Tony and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. The American was only slightly surprised at what she was doing. Sophie pulled away and hoped to see Tony happy, but instead he looked worried. Upon seeing this she felt like she did something wrong and immediately turned to walk away. As she turned Tony reached up and lightly grabbed her wrist, causing her to stop.

"Wait," he said before pulling her into an embrace and giving her a lasting kiss.

This time Sophie melted in his arms as she offered no resistance. They shared the tender contact for a sweet moment before they stopped.

"I really do feel the same way," Tony started. "Sorry, if I look worried. It's just that now I really don't want to lose you."

"I understand. I guess it's too late to go back now," she said in reply.

To this Tony gave a small laugh. "Yeah. Hey, when this mission's over you want to go out to a movie and ice cream or something?"

"Absolutely, but I get to pick the movie and wherever we go for ice cream must have mint and chip flavor."

"Sure thing. We should get to our racks now shouldn't we? We'd better get all the sleep we can."

"Of course," Sophie said.

From there they both separated and went back to their own barracks. Each of them was full of both joy and worry; joy that they now had the possibility of a bright new relationship and worry that war could take it from them.

That night all of the allied pilots slept in peace. The mission was only two days away.

* * *

**Date: September 19th, 2015**

**Time: 2257 hours, 10:57 P.M. (Moscow Time)**

**Location: Southern Russia, Russian Federation Airstrip near Volgograd**

Major General Krylov had assembled all the foreign mercenary pilots into the briefing room. He entered the building and stood at the front.

"My allies," he said to address the pilots and WSO's in the room. "There is something special that my country has planned to ensure the unmatched military strength of our new empire. However, the Americans have formed a plan to ruin it most likely when the war with Israel breaks out. I have access to spy satellites from my country and I've found that there was a squadron of American and NATO aircraft that had entered the Chinese Altai region a few hours ago. We couldn't find where they landed, but we're certain that they're there to terminate a system crucial to the success of my government's objective. I have taken upon myself the task of stopping them. However, I need well trained fighters to accompany me. I'm offering you a chance. Do you want a chance to kill some Americans?"

Krylov had also seen from satellite pictures that a Chinese squadron had been with the American squadron, but he purposefully neglected to tell them that. All of their countries considered China to be an ally as well as Russia and he worried that if they knew they could potentially be fighting Chinese units they would refuse.

The two remaining North Korean pilots both pledged their unquestioning support.

The Iranians were split. Rasheed wanted to fight Americans, but the rest of his squadron wanted to join the massive force that was going to kill the Israelis.

The Pakistanis were having trouble deciding only because they knew that if the American fighters were taking off from China, then the Chinese must have supported them to some degree. Pakistan was a strong ally of China.

"You may have an hour to think it over," Krylov said before leaving the room. As he did so he stopped when he saw the sight of Lena, who had been standing patiently outside of the briefing room and waiting for him. She had her glasses on and was looking at him intently again.

"You know that what I am about to do I do without the knowledge of our president," he said to her. Lena remained silent as she looked at his eyes. "You obviously know that I am setting up an ambush for the American forces and not going to the Middle East to assist in the destruction of Israel like I was told to. I'm disobeying my orders and you have not reported anything to your FSB contact. If you had done so already I would have been threatened to discontinue my actions or face punishment from above almost immediately. Instead you have helped me. Why is that?"

"Because, Major General, you intrigue me. You also didn't take advantage of me when I presented you the opportunity. Most men that I've met haven't done that and you are different. In fact most men have treated me terribly, but you have proven to be an exception even though you know I was sent to spy on you. I want to do anything to make it up to you."

The Russian cocked an eyebrow at his Ukrainian secretary. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth, sir. In fact I've decided to report to my contact whatever information you want me to report. Just let me know and I'll send it to him."

As Krylov looked into her eyes he was surprised that she looked like she was telling the truth. At that moment the Russian ace thought Lena may have had a very screwed up history with past relationships and she had developed a strong infatuation with him. If this was the case she could become a valuable asset to his goal. He decided to maintain some of his suspicions, but he would give her a test and see if it worked. "Tell your contact that everything is going as planned and the mercenaries are ready for the operations against Israel. Also, tell your contact we need an A-50 AWACS sent to one of our air strips in the Altai region to watch the Chinese. We'll need that AWACS when the Americans strike."

"On it, sir," she sharply replied.

* * *

**Date: September 20th, 2015**

**Time: 0630 hours, 6:30 A.M. (Altai Mountain Time)**

**Location: People's Republic of China, secret PLAAF air base in the Altai Mountainous region**

The _Dark Horses_ and Feng's squadron were surprised when they woke up and saw the airstrip was a rush of activity. Gex soon found them and asked them all into the briefing room. Once they were all seated they noticed the grave look he had on his face. The Chinese brought a TV in the room.

Gex finally spoke when the TV was set up. "The Russians and their allies broke the timeline they set for the resolution to be carried out and they launched the invasion of Israel a few minutes ago. The Middle East is already at war."

The pilots couldn't believe they were hearing this. It all felt surreal. Gex turned on the TV. The screen showed several images of heavy fighting that was going on between Israeli Defense Force units and Russian-Arab forces. Massive loads of rounds and missiles were being exchanged between the two sides. Tanks, aircraft, and soldiers were involved in heated combat.

A reporter's voice in the background was audible as she narrated the events. "Russia has broken the deadline set for U.N. Resolution 2441 to be enforced and has started the invasion of Israel a full day early. The US and the UK have denounced this action and called it deceptive. The Russians have claimed that they needed to launch a surprise attack because Israeli forces were so dug into the area it would make standard operations difficult and costly if they went with the deadline they gave. Currently Israeli forces are holding their own due to their drastically better training and equipment. Russian-Arab Coalition forces are engaged in heavy fighting as they attempt to break the IDF's defenses. Both sides have already suffered casualties, but one thing is clear. The Russian-Arab Coalition has the ability to replenish their losses easily, while the IDF is only getting weaker as the assault progresses..."

The reporter continued to trail off as more images of the war were shown.

"The mission is going down today. We also got word that the Russians just sent an AWACS to one of their Altai region airstrips and both of their airbases got put on full alert. It might just be a precaution, but we've decided to reconfigure all your aircraft with heavy armament. All of you suit up. Once the Atlas fires it's first shot we'll need to be ready," Gex said.

All of the pilots immediately scrambled to their lockers and put on their flight gear. From there they went to the mess hall and practically raided it for whatever breakfast they could devour and any small food items they could stuff into their pockets. After hitting the mess hall they ran to their aircraft on the airstrip and had come to find that each of them were already armed and fueled.

Tony quickly scanned his armament and saw he had two AIM-9X-2 Sidewinders, two AGM-65F Mavericks, two AGM-88E AARGMs, six AIM-120 AMRAAMs, and a centerline mounted 480 gallon fuel tank. His M61A2 Vulcan had 570 rounds of 20mm ammunition. His conformal tanks provided a combined increase of 3,000 lbs of extra fuel. Chance had the same loadout.

The Silent Eagles had their conformal weapons bays removed and replaced with conformal tanks. They had full external armament with two Sidewinders, six AMRAAMS, two triple racks that allowed them to hold six Mavericks, and a centerline fuel tank. Stored in their guns were 510 rounds of 20mm ammunition.

The Typhoons were each armed with four ASRAAMs, two Brimstone missiles, two 1000 liter fuel tanks, and four Meteors. Both their BK-27 Mauser cannons had their maximum capacity of 150 rounds of 27mm ammunition.

Once all of the pilots had climbed into their cockpits they each made sure their fighters were primed for battle. Afterwards they remained there in silence waiting for the word to be given. It was surprisingly quiet as they waited. It was then that they took notice of the sky and saw that it was completely clear, but there was a layer of clouds to the north. The sun was rising. The air was crisp and cold.

They all kept their eyes toward the north and wondered if they would be able to see the Atlas when it fired. As they waited Tony looked over at Chance. The Canadian was looking back at him and gave him a nod, confirming that he was ready and he had his back. Tony nodded in reply.

Just then they saw the Atlas fire. A bright white beam of light shot up into space and illuminated the morning sky for a moment. The light lasted for one whole second before disappearing.

Gex' voice came on the radio. "Alright, Horsemen Flight, they've started shooting down our satellites. One of them received a confirmed location of the Atlas after it fired, but it looks like they are preparing to fire again. We don't know how many times they can fire it or how fast, but we need to make the strike as quickly as possible."

With that all of the pilots in the strike group took off with their tanker support and started flying north towards the Russian border.

* * *

**Red Crown: Happy New Year! Remember to review if you want me to update.**


	28. Adrenaline Rush

_"War being the greatest of evils, all its accessories necessarily partake of the same character."_ -Herman Melville, _Omoo_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: **_"Adrenaline Rush"_**

**Date: September 20th, 2015**

**Time: 0735 hours, 7:35 A.M. (Altai Mountain Time)**

**Location: People's Republic of China, 10,000 feet over the Altai Mountainous region**

The sun was still climbing up the horizon. As they went further north broken clouds seemed to fill the sky around them. The Dark Horses and the Chinese squadron where well over the Altai region. Each of them had just finished refueling with the tanker.

Once they reached a certain point their tanker broke away and headed back to avoid setting off the Russian radar defense network. Both squadrons descended into the mountains and took a certain path they had mapped out to avoid being detected.

Their AWACS, callsign "Starbucks," was still in Chinese air space and observing the situation miles away. If Starbucks needed to warn them of anything they would rely on sending them an encrypted satellite signal. That, of course, was hoping the satellite was still there by the time they detected the danger.

As they went through the mountains they couldn't help, but notice the amazing beauty of the Altai region. Several of the mountain peeks were covered in light layers of snow. Green and brown trees decorated the mountain bodies and the vallies below were littered with small lakes. It looked like a type of alpine paradise.

Just then another beam of white light shot up into the sky. It had taken a matter of 30 minutes to fire a second shot, which meant that the Atlas had a considerably high rate of fire for a laser its size. It could take out nearly all of America's military satellites in a single day. As the sun rose and daylight increased they all noted that it became harder to see the beam from the Atlas. The Russians were smart to start firing during the day.

The Chinese squadron split away and headed west to take out their S-400s. The allies went through a route in the mountains east to take out their own two S-400s.

* * *

**Date: September 20th, 2015**

**Time: 0723 hours, 7:23 A.M. (Astana Time)**

**Location: Eastern Kazakhstan****, 25,000 feet **

A fighter group with an IL-78 tanker cruised high above the Kazakhstan landscape. Krylov was at the front. Next to him were the two MiG-35 fighters of the North Koreans. He also had in his formation two Pakistani JF-17s and an Su-30MKIR piloted by Rasheed, who had left one of his men in charge of his squadron to go to the Middle East and fight against Israel so he could join Krylov.

The skilled Russian had kept in contact with the A-50 AWACS in the region and learned that the A-50 hadn't picked up any radar contacts in the region. If the allied nations were conducting a strike they were either using stealth aircraft or terrain masking. Krylov decided to assume that they were using stealth aircraft and would enter the area at high altitude.

As he planned out this operation his mind seemed to be distracted. Something Lena had said right before he left seriously bothered him.

* * *

_Once Krylov learned that the A-50 AWACS was sent into the area and he was under no suspicion from above about disobeying his orders he found that he could trust Lena in this particular matter. The Major General quickly suited up in his flight gear and grabbed his helmet. When he left the locker he found Lena once again waiting for him._

_"I've done as you asked. Are you satisfied with the AWACS?" she asked._

_"Yes. Good work, Lena," he answered before heading towards his stealth fighter._

_"Wait, Major General," she said causing Krylov to stop. "Do you really have to go into battle with them? With your rank you could-"_

_"What kind of stupid question is that? I shouldn't have to tell you why since you read my journal. There's no point in preparing revenge for an enemy if I don't get the pleasure of dirtying my hands in it."_

_"Sir, look at what you already have. With your rank you could go to Moscow and have a completely fresh start at life. You could drop all of this bloodshed and leave it behind." She came closer to him and began to tightly hug his arm. "You could have a fresh start with me."_

_It was then that Krylov knew for certain Lena wasn't lying to him and her feelings were true. The Ukrainian woman could have reported him to the FSB and probably been paid huge amounts of rubles, but she didn't. She also didn't try to steer him into fighting in the Middle East like the FSB would have wanted her to. This proved she wasn't simply another government loyalist. She was literally trying to keep him from going back to war because she cared about him. For a moment the cold blooded Russian was almost touched by her appeal... almost. Krylov merely pulled his arm from her, put his helmet on, and coldly walked away from her to his Su-50. _

_"I like what I do, Lena. I thrive on it," he replied, not even looking back._

_The secretary sadly watched him go.  
_

* * *

The Russian pilot was now rethinking her words. To a long lost part of him a fresh start sounded appealing, but that part of him was far too gone. He quickly gave back into the lust for revenge.

At that moment the voice of Rasheed, who had the radio callsign Rage 17, came over the radio. "Pheonix Zero, Rage One-seven here, I've scanned ahead and I still see no enemy contacts."

"They're there, Rage One-seven. Just stay on my wing and remain ready. We'll soon have assistance from three squadrons as well," he replied.

Just then Baek's voice came over the radio. "Pheonix Zero, Sunspot Five-five, are three squadrons really necessary?"

"They're just a precaution, Sunspot Five-five," came the reply.

Suddenly he received a radio transmission from Lena. "Stalin One to Pheonix Zero, we have word from radar operators in the Altai. They haven't detected any aircraft penetrating our airspace, but they do see two airborne warning and control aircraft flying in China near our border and observing the air space above the Atlas." Then her transmission went out.

A smirk graced Krylov's lips. "Pheonix Zero to all, that's them. Tell me, Rage One-seven, what is the first step to obtaining victory against an American air group?"

"Gouge out their eyes, kill their AWACS," Rasheed replied sharply.

"I've taught you well. Immediately head to the Atlas and conduct a CAP. I will join you shortly."

Krylov flipped a switch in his cockpit that allowed one of his multifunctional displays to show his armament: two R-74MEs, six R-77Ms, two R-77Ps, and 150 rounds of 30mm ammunition. All of his weapons were held internally, which allowed for very little drag on the air frame of his Su-50. Once he saw that everything was perfect he shut off his active scanning equipment and went into stealth mode. With the throttle at military power he began to supercruise ahead of his mercenary allies.

* * *

**Date: September 20th, 2015**

**Time: 0755 hours, 7:55 A.M. (Altai Mountain Time)**

**Location: Southern Russia, Altai Mountainous region**

Tony flipped the master arms switch. All his weapons went hot. He sent Scorch and Nathan to take the southeastern S-400 at the edge of Kill Box Zero Omega. Pat and Sophie would follow him and Chance as they went further into Russian air space to the northeastern S-400. Scorch and Nathan took a path that involved a wide outward turn before turning back in to face the S-400s. This would make it so that they would be in range of taking out their S-400 at the same time that Tony and Chance reached engagement range for their own S-400. The Chinese were going to use the same tactic against the two westward S-400s and they had timed it at the same instant that the Dark Horses were to carry out their strike.

If all went as planned they could destroy all four of the S-400s at roughly the same time. The Russians would be caught by surprise and have little time to react as Feng came in with his J-20 and launched two supersonic cruise missiles to destroy the Atlas. The operation would be short, swift, precise, and get the job done. The supersonic cruise missiles loaded in Feng's weapons bay were Chinese copies of the Russian SS-N-27 Sunburn and had been modified to use guidance from the Beidou system. The Biedou system was a Chinese network of satellites that weren't as advanced as the Russian GLONASS or American GPS systems, but they did provide enough guidance for a weapon system. The fact that the Atlas wasn't taking out Chinese satellites also ensured that the guidance system would remain present during the mission.

Just as they reached their half way point a satellite signal came in from the AWACS. It was a warning that there were eight Su-27 Flankers that were patrolling at 20,000 feet 52 miles northwest of their location and closing the distance. Another flight of six MiG-31's was moving in at high speed 170 miles from the northeast at 30,000 feet. There was also another flight of unknown aircraft moving in 150 miles from the Russian-Kazakhstan border and closing in on the side of the Kill Box where the Chinese were operating.

It was then that the allied pilots realized the Russians were expecting them and had mobilized their own units in the area. They hoped the Chinese AWACS also alerted Feng's squadron. If anything they all felt a powerful increase in adrenaline and their senses became sharp as dagger blades.

Tony quickly got on the radio. "Horseman One to all, break radio silence. They know we're here. We need to do this fast. Three and Four, I want you to pull high and engage the Flankers after the objectives have been neutralized."

"Horseman Three here, Affirmative, One," said Sophie,

"Horseman Four, I copy," said Pat.

As the allied aircraft moved closer to their destinations Tony and Chance flipped on their IRST sensors and steered them towards the area that their S-400 was in. Pat and Sophie separated from them and went into a different area in the mountains so that they would be in an optimum position to pull up and provide air cover. At this moment they all dropped their fuel tanks from their aircraft in preparation to engage.

The S-400 soon came into view. The truck loaded with missiles rested on the peak of one of the taller mountains 9 miles from them. It was already prepped to fire, with the missile tubes locked in the firing position and the radar system actively scanning. Four operators were walking around the SAM battery. The mere fact that the radar was on meant it was a perfect target for an AGM-88E.

"One here, I've found it. I'm taking it out." Tony quickly selected his AGM-88E and acquired a lock. "Magnum!" he called out as he unleashed the missile at the S-400. It streaked off his wing and accelerated to a speed faster than that of sound towards the S-400. Through his IRST Tony could clearly see the missile come down and score a direct hit on the target. The warhead detonated and spread searing hot blast and shrapnel upon the Russian missile battery, ruining it's ability to fire. As the blast incinerated the four missile operators Tony couldn't help but notice that this time he felt nothing except a powerful rush of adrenaline as he watched them die. This both terrified and comforted him. The thought of becoming what he hated the most was frightening, but if he had no shock in killing the enemy he could accomplish the mission easier.

"Target destroyed," he calmly called out on the radio.

Suddenly they could see on their RWR several smaller Russian SAM batteries turn on their radars in the area and begin scanning the skies looking for them. A few seconds later the Dark Horses received a satellite signal confirming that Nathan and Scorch had taken out their S-400 battery. A second satellite signal quickly confirmed that the Chinese had also taken out their S-400s.

"Horseman One to all, Mud Twenty-ones are out. Engage any enemy air and cover for Dragon One," Tony called out.

Sophie and Pat immediately climbed to scan the area for the incoming Su-27 Flankers and selected Meteor missiles to engage them. Their AWACS quickly sent them an electronic signal that revealed the location of the eight Su-27s that were now only 38 miles away and closing in on their area.

"Horseman Three, engaging. Fox Three, Fox Three," called out Sophie as she targeted four Flankers and launched all four of her Meteor missiles at them.

"Horseman Four, engaging. Fox Three," Pat called out after firing her four Meteors at the other four Flankers.

Suddenly both their RWRs flared with warnings that indicated they had been locked onto by hostile air radars from far away. They both soon realized that when they used their radars to engage the Flankers it gave away their position to the flight of MiG-31's coming in. Two Foxhounds had already targeted Pat and launched two R-37M long range missiles at her.

Sophie had been targeted by a nearby SA-15 that saw her when she engaged the Flankers as well.

"Four here, I'm spiked by Foxhounds! Diving for cover!" shouted Pat as she pulled below the mountains again to hide from the hostile radar beams.

"Three, Spiked! Mud Fifteen my two o'clock low!" Sophie punched out chaff and flare and went into a nose low left bank.

Tony quickly selected his other AGM-88 and found the SA-15 Gauntlet SAM battery six miles from her location. He obtained a lock and fired. "Horseman One, I see him, Three. Magnum!"

He watched as the anti-radiation missile streaked off his wing and darted for the small SAM vehicle. The AGM-88E closed the distance in seconds. The SA-15 fired at Sophie, but once the AGM-88E hit it the semi-active radar guided missile lost its guidance. Without the fire control radar on board the SA-15 vehicle the missile lost its lock on Sophie and darted away into the sky.

"Good shot, Horseman One," Sophie said.

Chance climbed above the mountain peeks and focused his attention on the Flankers. He saw from the AWACS signals that several of them had activated jammers and release countermeasures. Five of the Meteor missiles connected with their targets and decimated them. The three remaining Flankers went into full afterburner towards their location. Chance received an RWR warning that indicated he had been lock onto by the Su-27s. Two Flankers fired R-77M missiles at him.

"Two here, Spike! I'm engaging the three remaining Flankers. Fox Three! Fox Three!" he called out as he selected 3 AMRAAMs, locked onto the bandits, and fired. Three AIM-120s dropped from his wings. Their rocket motors ignited and sent the missiles racing off into the distance towards the Russian jets.

Once his AMRAAMs were on the way he dived back below the mountains for cover. The radars on the R-77M missiles lost sight of him, causing them to slam into the mountain side and miss their target.

Since Chance's move had caused him to lose sight of the Su-27s Tony pulled above the mountain peaks and focused his IRST on them. Through his IR feed he could see the Su-27s had begun evasive maneuvers and released countermeasures in an attempt to dodge Chance's AMRAAMs. One of the Flankers was hit in the left wing. The blast force ripped the wing to tatters and spread shrapnel into the body of the Russian Federation Air Force fighter, tearing off a horizontal stabilizer with subsequent damage. The left engine caught fire and the wounded warplane rolled over. The pilot ejected. A second Su-27 was hit in the nose head on. The explosion pummeled the fuselage and the pilot didn't have a chance to get out.

The last Su-27 turned his nose toward the area that Chance had disappeared off into. It was clear that he was still hunting for him and still wanted to fight. Tony selected an AIM-120 and targeted the bandit. "Fox three," he called out and fired. Through his IR feed he watched as the Flanker rolled over in an attempt to dive beneath the mountains, but he wasn't fast enough. The AIM-120 reached him before he could make it to the mountain cover and ripped into the center fuselage, tearing both engines out of their sockets and setting the rear end on fire. The pilot punched out.

From there Tony and Chance immediately went south and began engaging scattered enemy SAM batteries in the area. They needed to eliminate enough of them to clear out an air corridor so that they could escape. All the while they were mindful that the MiG-31s were rapidly closing the distance.

* * *

Rasheed took the two Pakistanis and the two North Koreans with him to conduct a CAP over the area where one of the S-400s was stations, just like Krylov had told him. To his surprise he saw that the S-400 there was destroyed and left in a smoldering wreck. He found five air contacts flying out of the radar shadows that were created by the mountains. He sent them an IFF squawk and was surprised that they came up as friendlies. He looked at them with the IR-imaging sensor on his Su-30MKIR and was equally surprised to see that they were a flight of five Su-30 Flankers.

This could be an international incident for his nation if it wasn't handled carefully. He immediately got on an open channel. "This is Rage One-seven of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Air Force to unknown aircraft. Identify yourself," he called out in English.

A few seconds went by before a reply came back to him. "This is Dragon Two of the P-L-A-A-F, we don't want to engage you, Rage One-seven. Our mission is complete. Let us avoid this confrontation," came the reply.

Suddenly one of the Pakistanis came over the radio. "This is Knife Two-eight of Pakistan, what is the meaning of this? You are helping the Americans! If they accomplish their mission here we will lose our unmatched military dominance for the future!" he shouted.

The Chinese pilot replied back calmly. "Your new empire threatens the interests of China and our government was shocked that you would choose the Russians over us. You reap what you sow, my friend. Let us leave and keep our relations intact."

Rasheed wanted to avoid this particular confrontation. Before he could give a calm reply to the Chinese one of the Pakistani pilots did something drastic. "No, the Russians promised us power in ways you never did. Nothing will stand in our way of that!" Just then one of the Pakistani JF-17s selected an active radar guided missile and fired it at the Chinese.

The Chinese pilot only left one last reply before switching to a different radio frequency and effectively ending communications. "Big mistake."

The People's Liberation Army Air Force Flanker pilots quickly switched to air-to-air mode and engaged their former allies.

* * *

**Red Crown: This was originally going to be a very long chapter, I wasn't even done and it was extremely long so I decided to split the length into two smaller chapters. I'm still working on the second half of this fight. Again, with my action scenes I am really hoping that I made it clear enough for you all to picture it in your head. If you think I worded something funny or you didn't understand it please let me know in a review and I will go back and try to reword better. Just so you know, my motivation has been lagging with all of the other work I have to do so right now reviews would greatly empower me to write more and bring you the next chapter sooner!  
**


	29. Despair

_"Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends."_ -The Bible, John 15:13, English Standard Version

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE: **_"Despair"_**

**Date: September 20th, 2015**

**Time: 0816 hours, 8:16 A.M. (Altai Mountain Time)**

**Location: Russian-Chinese border, 30,000 feet over the Altai Mountainous region**

Krylov had flown south of the location of the Atlas and the SAM network that defended it. A few seconds ago he received a radio transmission from Russian Air Defense forces that reported they were under attack by unknown aircraft. The Russian combat aviator wanted to find and kill the two AWACS aircraft that were undoubtedly assisting the attackers, but he didn't want to use his radar for fear of alerting them to his presence. He scanned the sky using only his IRST and penetrated Chinese air space to get within an effective range to find his targets. He was cruising right on top of the broken cloud cover. Suddenly he saw two heat signatures 25 miles away from him and 20 miles apart in distance. He commanded the IRST on his Su-50 to look closely at one of them and immediately saw that it was an E-3 Sentry AWACS. He then focused on the other one and found that it was a Chinese KJ-2000.

The stealth capabilities on his fighter allowed him to remain hidden from the AWACS radar and his passive radar guided R-77Ps were coated with radar absorbent material. This combination would allow him to kill both of the AWACS without either of them even knowing he was there.

The Russian ace selected an R-77P. He pushed the firing button and his underbay weapons doors opened to drop the anti-radar missile. Its fins and potato masher-type control surfaces unfolded from the shaft and the rocket motor activated sending it streaking off towards the AWACS at mach 4. He then launched a second missile at the KJ-2000.

Through his IRST he quickly watched as his first R-77P struck the E-3 Sentry in the fuselage, erupting in a bright orange explosion that caused severe damage and killed many of the crew. The radar disc snapped off of the spine of the jet and the left wing bent downward before breaking away in the air. He then panned over to the KJ-2000 and saw that it too had been hit in the fuselage. It was on fire and leaving a trail of black smoke in its path as its nose went down and its altitude dropped. The rear fuselage and the radar disc fell away and the front of the aircraft went into a spiral.

Krylov's cold blood only got colder with pleasure as he watched the fantastic display of death he had created.

With both AWACS aircraft gone the allied fighters were now blind and would need to rely on their own systems for engaging the enemy. Krylov then turned his nose towards the area that his own A-50 AWACS had reported was the most likely location the enemy fighters were in. He intended to kill any aircraft that had penetrated the sovereign air space of his country. With his throttle at military power he began to supercruise towards them to join the fight that broke out between them, his fellow Russians, and his allies from the alliance.

With the flip of a switch he sent a signal via Russian data link to the A-50 Mainstay that was high above the clouds and exactly 200 miles away from the Atlas. He let the A-50 know that both the enemy AWACS aircraft had been destroyed. The A-50 would then transmit that information to the MiG-31 Foxhounds so they could adjust their tactics accordingly.

He briefly flipped on his radar to make a quick scan of the area with little exposure to himself. One thing he noticed was that there was a contact at high altitude 26 miles in front of him. He panned his IRST upward to focus on the contact and saw that it was a J-20 stealth fighter. He had no idea what it was doing up there, but he soon realized that if the S-400's were gone the Atlas would be vulnerable to a few high speed cruise missiles launched from a supersonic platform like a stealth fighter.

Right now the J-20 was also supercruising and had built up enough speed so that it was moving faster than Krylov's current speed. The Russian quickly advanced the throttle from military power to maximum afterburner. The already overwhelmingly powerful engines on his stealth fighter roared as raw kerosene was dumped into the exhaust. Krylov quickly began to accelerate faster and started approaching mach 2.

The J-20 didn't have a good stealth profile from the rear and he could lock onto it with radar. Krylov flipped on his AESA radar and selected an R-77M. He also kept in mind that he would need to quickly anticipate the J-20 launching any ordinance. The R-77M was a missile with a top speed of Mach 4 and the fastest Chinese cruise missiles did not have a speed above Mach 2 so he was confident that he could intercept them in time.

* * *

Feng had four supersonic cruise missiles in his internal bay. He thought the job would only require two so he kept them at the ready. The other two were extra. Just then he received a warning that he had been locked onto by a hostile aircraft radar from behind and 6,000 feet below him. The unknown aircraft was approaching his speed. At first he thought his equipment was malfunctioning since both the AWACS aircraft hadn't reported anything and had supposedly had his rear covered.

He was told not to break radio silence for any reason, but this peculiar case caused him to worry. "Dragon One to Snake Eye, do you have any contacts on your screen?"

No response.

He waited several seconds before repeating his transmission and still got nothing in return.

Just then his RWR switched from indicating a missile lock to indicating an incoming radar guided missile launch. Feng quickly adapted and punched out chaff and flares as well as activated his internal jammers. He would need to launch the cruise missiles early. The Chinese pilot flipped a switch that opened the underbay weapons door, set the missiles to be guided by satellite, and pressed the pickle button twice. Both supersonic cruise missiles dropped from his aircraft. The wings unfolded and the engine ignited. As soon as they were on their way Feng broke away into a hard turn inside of the incoming missile that had been fired at him.

Just then Scorch's voice came over the radio. "Horseman Five to Dragon One, my AWACS link is out. Is yours gone too?"

"Yes, Horseman Five. I've got a bandit on my six who is engaging me. I had to launch early."

"Hang on, I'll cover you."

Luckily the enemy's missile was subdued by the jamming and lost its track on his J-20. Feng turned his jammers off and saw from his RWR that the unknown contact still had its radar on, but it was not focusing on his J-20 anymore. The unknown aircraft launched two more missiles, but they didn't set off the warning alarms in his cockpit. It was then that he noticed the missiles were not flying toward him, but instead they were flying toward the cruise missiles that he launched towards the Atlas.

"Dragon One to Horseman Five, we need to kill this bandit fast! He is taking out the cruise missiles! I only have two more left!"

* * *

Scorch and Nathan were deeper in the southern part of the Kill Box and found that they were between the general location of the Atlas and Feng's location, roughly 22 miles north from him. They had together destroyed 12 scattered SAM batteries to create an air corridor for the cruise missiles and were completely out of AGM-65 Mavericks. The Silent Eagle pilots flipped on their radars and could see the cruise missiles as they made their way into the Kill Box. Feng was still in stealth mode so he was difficult to find. Suddenly they saw two more missiles come in from behind the Chinese cruise missiles at more than twice their speed. Once they caught up with the cruise missiles they detonated and the two Eagle pilots watched on radar as the Chinese-made missiles went spiraling downward out of control.

They also noticed that the aircraft that had taken out the cruise missiles still had his radar on for a few seconds, most likely to confirm he had killed them. He shut off his radar and disappeared, but Scorch and Nathan now knew his general location was several miles behind Feng. They went into full afterburner.

The two former U.S. Air Force pilots noticed that there was a layer of fog laying on the mountains in front of them. This forced them to climb. Both of them had their radars on and kept scanning the area, not only to look for the unknown enemy fighter but also to present themselves as a target for this bandit so that they could lure him out. In their minds it was better that the enemy targeted them rather than the J-20.

* * *

Tony, Chance, Pat, and Sophie had already killed 8 SAMs and cleared a route in the southern part of Kill Box Zero-Omega.

They were all shocked when their AWACS communications links suddenly stopped supplying them information. While they remained at low altitude below the mountain peeks to be kept hidden from the MiG-31 Foxhounds they tried desperately to get in touch with their AWACS.

"Horseman Four to Starbucks, what the hell is going on over there? We can't see anything!" Pat shouted over the radio.

For a while she kept yelling at the AWACS operator and received no reply.

Tony had also kept track of what was going on with Feng and Scorch as they communicated over the radio. "Horseman One to all, we need to double back. Dragon One has been compromised and he takes top priority now." He then scanned his armament and saw that he now had five AMRAAMs, two Sidewinders, and 570 rounds.

Suddenly a heat-seeking missile struck Pat's Typhoon in the left engine. Hot blast force tore away the tail and half of the left engine. The EF-2000 began trailing smoke and leaking precious fluids in the air. Flames were clearly visible from the right engine as it began to lose thrust.

A second missile came at Chance from behind. The Canadian punched out chaff and flare before snapping into a wild barrel roll that spoofed the missile and left it harmlessly shooting away from him. "Whoa!"

Just then two MiG-31s streaked over them at Mach 3 and raced ahead far away from them.

It was then that the allies discovered these Russian Foxhound pilots were incredibly smart. They kept four of their number far away scanning the skies from up high and sent two to their location to comb the area for them, utilizing the Foxhound's incredible speed. The fact that they didn't have the AWACS available and that the MiG-31's had moved fast allowed them to close the distance without them noticing in time enough.

Pat was surprised by it all, but quickly recovered due to her training. The controls were dead. "I'm hit! Ejecting!" She braced herself before pulling the black and yellow handle. Small explosives destroyed the canopy and rockets under her seat thrust her into the air. She felt the wind hit her with an overwhelming force. The world seemed like a chaotic blur as she fell several hundred feet before her parachute kicked in and finally slowed her down. As she was descending she pulled out her radio. "I'm going dark. Complete the mission. Protect those cruise missiles!"

Sophie immediately recovered from the situation and went into full afterburner. She pointed the nose of her Typhoon at the two MiG-31's as they sped away. They were about six miles away when she fired her ASRAAM at one of them. "Fox Two!" she yelled as the heat-seeking missile streaked off her wingtip.

The missile made a beeline for the exhaust of the targeted Foxhound. The MiG pilot began releasing flares, but it was to no avail. The ASRAAM went right up the right engine nozzle before detonating, spreading shrapnel all over the back fuselage. The right tail and elevator broke off and the left engine caught fire. The Russian pilot ejected from the wreck.

"Splash!" she called out.

"Horseman One to Three, go protect Dragon One. He's the priority. Two and I will take care of these Foxhounds," Tony said.

"Roger," Sophie replied and put her Typhoon in full afterburner southwest to the area that Feng was estimated to be in.

* * *

Krylov saw that two of his enemies had kept their radars on to make themselves bait. He scoffed at their pathetic attempt to get him to reactivate his radar. The Russian ace wasn't a fool enough to fall for it. Instead he kept closing distance with the J-20 until he was 11 miles away. He selected an R-74ME and obtained a lock on the Chinese stealth fighter, but just as he was about to fire the J-20 went down into some cloud cover. The cloud vapor masked the fighter from the heat-seeker on his R-74ME. With the after burners still on full the Major General maintained a supersonic speed as he headed for the exact same clouds that his prey had disappeared into.

* * *

Feng descended and immediately flew into the broken cloud cover, which would help hide his J-20 from IR sensors and heat seeking missiles. The white vapor blinded his canopy. The fact that Feng hadn't detected the unknown bandit for a while made him nervous. It was obviously stealthy and the pilot was highly skilled. The Chinese pilot remembered that there was a layer of heavy fog resting on the mountains in front and below him. It was risky to fly through fog, but it provided him with enough cover so that he could fly closer to the Atlas. If he could launch the two remaining cruise missiles at a closer distance it would decrease the amount of time for the unknown Russian bandit's missiles to catch up to them and drastically increase Feng's chances of scoring a hit. Feng kicked in maximum afterburner and put his nose in a steep dive. He set his radar to terrain-avoidance mode and was presented with a clear picture of the mountains on one of the displays in his cockpit.

Once he flew out of the cloud cover he could easily see Scorch and Nathan in their Silent Eagles as they came within visual range. They were now 7 miles away, 12,000 feet below him and pulling up into a climb. Feng was moving so fast that he was close to passing them by a distance that was less than a half mile in a matter of seconds.

* * *

Scorch and Nathan began to get really nervous as they came within visual range of Feng's J-20 and still hadn't seen the unknown bandit. Feng was now 5,000 feet above them and in a screaming dive towards the fog below them. He was moving so fast that he looked like a blur when they passed by each other.

Suddenly Scorch saw a dot burst out of the high clouds after Feng. It was then that he realized it was the size of a large fighter and a missile had been release off of it.

"Dragon One, pop flares!" Scorch shouted. However, Scorch knew that it was too late and there was only one way to protect Feng. He kicked in full afterburner, steered in heavy rudder, pulled hard on the stick, and with the most excellent precision drove his Silent Eagle head first into the R-74ME missile. The missile connected with the underside of the nose before the warhead discharged, sending hot shrapnel and powerful blast force up through the fuselage and right through the cockpit. Rowdy "Scorch" Coughlin was killed instantaneously. The nose broke away and the American-made F-15SE went into an out of control tumble through the sky towards the earth.

Nathan almost panicked when he witnessed what happened to Scorch. He quickly selected an AIM-9X and steered the seeker up towards the unknown bandit, but before he could fire the bandit had closed the distance to less than a mile and did something he thought he would never see in his life. The enemy had fired an extremely precise burst of 30mm rounds at a speed over mach 1 in a head on pass. Three of the 30mm rounds struck his Silent Eagle in the right intake, left fuselage, and right wing.

A sudden rush of adrenaline made time compress and seem to slow down as the unknown fighter merged with him. He saw that it was a Su-50 stealth fighter. On it's fuselage was a black star with the centered outline of the uni-code symbol of the black queen chess piece in blood red and a blood red outline was around the edges of the star. It was one of the most terrifying sights he had ever witnessed.

Right after the merge his Silent Eagle literally fell into several parts. The fact that they had been moving head on multiplied the impact of the 30mm rounds. His right intake separated from the fuselage. Both wings broke away. The weapons pylons fell off. Fuel and hydraulic fluid poured out of his aircraft's body. Nathan immediately knew that he had to ditch his wounded aircraft.

"Horseman Six to all, the bandit is the Red Czar! Five is K-I-A! I'm hit and punching out!" he called out on the radio before pulling the ejection handles.

* * *

The Russian ace had watched the Silent Eagle pilot throw himself in front of the missile with a gaze of steel. _"Worthless sacrifice,"_ he thought as he stole a glance at the wreckage of the two destroyed Eagles. It only delayed the inevitable.

Krylov could have used his other R-74ME on the second Silent Eagle, but he needed that missile to take out the J-20. He quickly selected the other heat seeking R-74ME and closed his distance on the J-20 to 7 miles. He achieved a lock on the bandit and was just about to fire when suddenly his RWR went off to signify a heat seeking missile launch. He saw from one of his displays that it was coming from ahead. He panned his IRST to look at the shooter and found that it was a Eurofighter 15 miles north of him closing in on him with full afterburner. The Eurofighter had an advanced PIRATE infra-red sensor so it was not surprising that it had been able to find him.

This opponent had launched an ASRAAM at him from its maximum firing distance, which meant that the shot was not aimed at achieving a kill, but simply aimed at getting him away from the J-20. Krylov launched his R-74ME at the J-20 then made a mad dash for the mountains to use them as cover from the ASRAAM missile fired at him. All the while he kept track of the J-20 with quick glances.

* * *

Sophie lost sight of the Su-50 as it changed its course to find some mountain cover, making her ASRAAM lose track of it as well. She watched as the R-74ME missile it had fired closed in on Feng and detonated.

Through her PIRATE scope she was able to see several bits of shrapnel spread into the skin of Feng's warplane. One of the engines caught fire and two feet of the right wing broke off. The skilled Chinese pilot shut off his burning engine. Surprisingly the damage was not enough to destroy the heavy jet and it remained in the air. Feng rolled left, then rolled right and was happy to find that he still had control. The damage was not severe.

"Horseman Three to Dragon One, what's your status?"

"I'm wounded, but I think I can still achieve a good firing solution if I close distance to the target," Feng replied.

"Roger that. I'll cover you." The only weapons Sophie had left were three ASRAAMs and 150 rounds of 27mm ammunition. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

She was still in full afterburner and screaming through the sky at 600 knots to cover Feng more closely as he flew into the fog, which made it now impossible to find him with an IR sensor.

* * *

Tony was 5 miles behind the second MiG-31 that had been searching through the mountains at low altitude for him. By some chance it had fallen into his sights. He selected an AIM-9X-2 Sidewinder and acquired a lock before pulling the trigger. "Fox two!"

The heat-seeking missile shot off his wingtip. It went straight up the Foxhound's left engine before detonating and tearing the back end of the Russian interceptor to shredded bits of fiery metals. The adversary reached for his ejection handle and pulled. The canopy was blown away and Tony spotted the small rockets light from his seat leaving the damaged warplane.

He looked 5 miles through a narrow passage in the mountains ahead and saw that Chance had been acting as a wild weasel. He was flying above the mountain peaks and showing himself on radar to try and attract the other MiG-31s. He succeeded in provoking all four other Foxhounds towards him. Once the Russian pilots locked onto him Tony could immediately see where they were at through his RWR. They were all in formation at 18,000 feet and 21 miles away. Each Foxhound fired an R-77M missile at the Canadian warrior.

"Spike! Spike!" Chance called out. "They're all at my eight o'clock! Take them out!"

Chance's tactic had worked brilliantly since all of the Foxhounds had been eager for a kill and targeted him. Tony selected his AIM-120s and flipped on his radar. He used the multi-tracking capability of the AESA radar to obtain a lock on all four of them simultaneously. Four AIM-120 AMRAAMs dropped from his aircraft before their rocket motors ignited, sending the missiles racing to their targets at a ridiculous speed. "Fox Three! Fox Three!"

The Foxhounds immediately went into evasive maneuvers and began pumping out chaff and flare, but the AMRAAMs aimed true all the way to their targets. Each Foxhound was hit and knocked out. Tony could see them on his radar as they each tumbled out of controlled flight and fell to the earth. Once he was sure they were dead he flipped his radar off.

"Multiple Splashes! Good moves, Horseman Two!"

A few seconds went by and Tony realized that Chance was awfully quiet.

"Horseman One to Two, what's your status?" Tony called out on the radio. He got no response. He got on the radio again and repeated his call. "Horseman Two, copy?"

No response. Just then Tony looked down and saw that there was something burning on the ground in the valley below him. A stack of black smoke was rising from its flames. He tilted his aircraft on its side and banked towards it to get a better look. As he looked more closely he saw that it was the smoldering wreckage of an F/A-18E. The R-77Ms the MiGs fired at Chance must have hit.

What really bothered Tony was that he couldn't tell if Chance had made it out or not. If the Canadian was already down the fact that the Russians had put an armored regiment of troops near the Atlas to guard it meant that he, along with Nathan and Pat, had very bad odds of escaping capture. If Chance had ejected then he wasn't using his radio and it was with good reason since the Russians were most certainly now trying to listen in on their communications.

Although Tony wanted to stay around and see if he could eye a parachute he knew that he had to go back and help Sophie cover Feng as soon as possible. If Feng didn't make it the mission would be a failure and Chance's efforts would have been for nothing.

"Horseman One to Three, what's your status?"

"Three here, Dragon One's heading for the target. I'm covering him. Six confirmed an ID on the bandit before he went down. It's the Red Czar. I repeat, it's the Red Czar," Sophie replied.

"I'm on my way," replied Tony as he turned south. At the same time the American pilot checked his fuel and saw that he was nearing bingo.

* * *

Sophie monitored her fuel and saw that she was low since she had used a long burst from her afterburners to get to Feng in time. The British fighter pilot was at 10,000 feet and kept scanning the air with her PIRATE sensor. She climbed to gain altitude. It was better that the Red Czar target her instead of Feng. She had her next ASRAAM missile selected and at the ready. She knew that she needed to find the enemy first.

Suddenly she saw that she was spiked from behind. Sophie looked at her six o'clock. To her surprise the Red Czar was less than a mile away and his cannon was blazing. She rolled out and went into a low left bank barely dodging a short burst of green 30mm tracers. "One, I've spotted him! Engaging!"

The Russian Ace was not far behind her. As much as Sophie tried to shake him off her tail Krylov kept closing the distance and kept trying to get a better gun solution. The skilled ex-Royal Air Force pilot began jinking every which way to try to get away from the elite Russian. Eventually her jinking brought both warplanes over the cloud of fog.

It was at that moment the Russian ace fired a precise burst into her flight path and nailed her fuselage with 30mm rounds. The Typhoon shook violently as the left wing was ripped away by the blast forces. Hot shrapnel had ripped the front fuselage from the rear and several parts of the plane were set a blaze by the high explosive rounds.

"This is Horseman Three to One, I'm hit and punching out!" she called out before pulling the ejection handles. Her glass canopy was snapped off by detonators and rockets launched her out the cockpit. Since she was already at 5,000 feet her parachute opened almost immediately after ejecting. She was now slowly descending towards the cloud of fog below her. As she descended she couldn't help but to notice that the Red Czar didn't leave. Instead he was circling her like a vulture.

* * *

With the MiG-31s and many of the SAMs gone Tony could fly in a straight line above the mountain peeks without worrying about being targeted from far away. He arrived within visual range of his IRST just in time to see Sophie get hit. He panned towards the fighter and could see that it was a Russian Federation Air Force Su-50 stealth fighter. He then panned to the small form descending below towards the fog covered mountains. He recognized it as a parachute and immediately knew that it was Sophie.

His heart sank once he saw that she was now going to fall inside Russian lines. He desperately wanted to do something to bring her back into safe territory. Above all he was willing to give anything, even his own life, for her safety. He felt powerless since he couldn't do anything for her at the moment. Just then the Red Czar did something almost unimaginable.

* * *

Krylov considered that this Typhoon pilot was most likely British or from some other allied nation. He didn't personally have anything against the British. However, if it hadn't been for this pilot he would have been able to close in on the J-20 and finished it off with his cannon. This pilot had messed up his attempt to kill the Chinese stealth jet and he thought that to be unforgivable. He would now need to wait for the J-20 to exit the fog in order to hunt it down and kill it. While he waited he decided to keep himself preoccupied.

_"I shall give this one a true mercenary's death. No dignity. No honor. Just despair,"_ Krylov thought.

He brought his Su-50 around and back towards the downed pilot. With the most excellent aim he fired a burst from his cannon that sliced right through the parachute, causing the British pilot to drop and disappear into the fog below. His cold blue eyes looked on without the slightest hint of emotion.

* * *

**Red Crown: I'm betting at least half of you hate me right now. I promise there's a point to all of this. Again, if any part of the fight was unclear or difficult to understand please let me know in a review and I will do my best to go back and reword it. By the way, I'm just curious because it's really bugging me to know this: Does anyone hate Krylov yet? Please let me know what you think in a review. Also, I was lagging in motivation to finish this chapter and your reviews helped me complete it fast! If I get more reviews I guarantee you the next chapter will come sooner too!  
**


	30. Checkmate

**Red Crown: After almost a year in exile I'm back with a vengeance. Okay, so here's the deal on why it took me so long to update. I got Ace Combat: Assault Horizon and played it only to be extremely disappointed that it was a terrible arcade game. The missions were too long and too redundant for me to keep interest in them. Eventually I just gave up and decided to watch all of the cut scenes for the storyline on Youtube. I was devastated to find out that a large portion of it was nothing but a weak version of my story and that Markov was a poorly watered down version of Krylov so I was lacking in motivation to continue this for a while. Eventually I was comforted by the fact that it turned out to be a major bust for Namco and the game got horrible reviews. A lot of people said that the ACAH storyline was extremely boring. I guess they failed in copying my story effectively if they did in fact do any copying. ****I'm partially inspired again to write, but admittedly my motivation is still weak. Reviews would greatly help me to write more.**

_"Aim with a hand, shoot with a mind, kill with a heart like arctic ice."_ -Warrior Project

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY: _**"Checkmate"**_

**Date: September 20th, 2015**

**Time: 0842 hours, 8:42 A.M. (Altai Mountain Time)**

**Location: Southern Russia, Altai Mountainous region**

Rasheed was amazed at how tough it had been to kill the Chinese Flankers. Everyone from his flight had been eliminated. In fact, he was the sole survivor of that engagement, a feat which he could only credit to the excellent training given to him by Krylov.

Krylov communicated that he was already engaged south of the Atlas. However, he also communicated that there was a J-20 armed with cruise missiles north of his position and heading towards the Atlas. The Russian pilot told the Iranian that it was a priority to intercept the J-20.

* * *

"That bastard," was the only thing Tony could say.

The only two aircraft within range of a 20 mile radius were an F/A-18E and an Su-50.

Tony could feel his mind be consumed with anger and a strong thirst for revenge. Surprising to himself his training allowed him to maintain a calm exterior. In his head though was a furious rage that wanted nothing more than to see Krylov dead. The American fighter pilot selected an AIM-120 AMRAAM missile. The only thing certain in his mind was this time he was fighting to kill. He was fighting to avenge.

At the same time Tony was engaging this enemy he had to remember that he couldn't go toe-to-toe with Krylov in a knife fight. The PAK-FA had every advantage at close range.

The Red Czar currently had the broad side of his aircraft facing Tony and at 20 miles the American was able to acquire a radar lock. "Fox Three!" he called out as he fired his AMRAAM at the enemy.

* * *

The Russian checked his RWR and discovered he had a missile closing in from his three o'clock. Quickly he used one of the side-looking AESA radars in his jet to scan the area that the launch came from and discovered a single enemy contact. He then slaved his IRST towards the bandit for a visual and discovered that it was an F/A-18E Super Hornet. The Super Hornet was noticeably different than the ones operated by the U.S. Navy or Australia. This one had several upgrades and a digital camo scheme. He also noted that there were no missiles left on the Super Hornet. In this particular case the Super Hornet might have only had gun ammo left.

In response, Krylov banked towards the enemy. He selected an R-77M and acquired a lock on the Super Hornet. The Russian ace fired his missile in return and then maneuvered low to the mountains to hide from the enemy missile fired at him. The AMRAAM launched at him lost sight and went into Altai mountain rock.

* * *

Tony immediately punched out chaff. From there he maneuvered below the mountains to get away. Once the enemy's missile lost sight of him Tony immediately decided to go along an alternate route through the mountains and head for the Russian Ace. The only thing going through his mind was a strong lust for Krylov's blood.

* * *

Rasheed headed south of the location of the Atlas at 10,000 feet. The powerful radar of his Su-30MKIR Flanker was scanning everything down below him. He was entirely focused on finding the J-20. Simultaneously, he had his IR scanner looking at the area down below him. At the current moment he couldn't see anything. The only thing visible to him were the many mountains and the place where the large cloud of fog ended. As he continued to scan he got on the radio with Krylov.

"Pheonix Zero, Rage One-seven, I am on the hunt for the enemy stealth fighter. When I find it I will let you know."

Krylov's voice responded, "Affirmative, Rage One-seven. I am engaging a bandit approximately two-nine miles south from your location. I will join you shortly."

Just then Atlas let loose another shot. A bright white beam of light filled the sky to his northeast and illuminated the surrounding area like a second sun. As the light illuminated the air the Iranian pilot could have swore he saw something moving in the clouds. He steered his IRST towards the area and had if focus on that spot for a moment. He waited for five seconds before seeing a Chinese J-20 fighter fly out of the area.

* * *

Tony turned around another mountain and pulled up above the mountain peeks. He scanned for contacts with his internal IRST. Just then he saw an approaching contact 8 miles in front of him and realized that Krylov had pulled above the mountains and was doing the exact same thing, scanning with his IRST. Tony selected his 20mm cannon. It was the only weapon he had left. The American naval aviator then did something that no Super Hornet pilot would ever do unless under the most extreme circumstances: he flipped the G-override switch. The Super Hornet had limiters built into it to prevent the pilot from pulling levels of G-force that would cause damage to the airframe. The G-override switch shut off the limiters and would allow the pilot to pull greater Gs at the cost of damage to the airframe. The Super Hornet airframe was rated for 7.5 G's. The American ace pilot was prepared to exceed that.

Both he and Krylov were coming at each other head on. Tony could feel a level of animosity and aggression that he never felt before take hold of his entire being as he and Krylov met in a classic merge.

* * *

The Russian ace selected his 30mm cannon. He saw that this Super Hornet was out of missiles and he wanted to keep the two remaining missiles he had in his weapons bays for the J-20 and any other cruise missiles it would fire. At the same time he was confident in his gun fighting skills and was convinced that this Super Hornet would be easy meat if it decided to take him on in a one-on-one gun fight.

To the Russian pilot's amazement the American kept heading towards him and they met in a classic merge. When Krylov crossed paths with this American he got a glance at the insignia on the side of the fuselage. It was a white knight chess piece centered in a black circle. He smirked as soon as he saw it. It was then that he remembered the exact conversation he had with Tony in Greece. Was this pilot that he was about to face the same person?

He pulled back on the stick and went into a climb. To his surprise the Super Hornet also pulled into a climb. The move had put both of them into a move described by many aviators as a "self-generating furball." They were in a vertical rolling scissors. Both aircraft were climbing in two zig-zag crossing paths. However, in this particular case the greater power and speed of the Su-50 put Krylov at a disadvantage. This Super Hornet pilot was using the vertical rolling scissors to draw him into a slow speed turning fight, which was the Super Hornet's specialty. Krylov immediately saw that this pilot was skilled and knew what he was doing.

Krylov pulled into his opponent. The Super Hornet did the same and they both overshot. When they crossed paths the Russian ace looked the American pilot in the eyes and saw the piercing brown gaze that made him recognizable as Tony. The American's eyes were very focused and full of anger. Krylov knew that look. It was a look that he once had himself.

He thought to himself that killing Tony now would be all too delicious an idea to pass up. The objective was gone and a blood lust filled his mind. Tony represented everything he hated about the American ideals. _"This time, Tony, you are fighting for nothing other than your life,"_ Krylov thought.

* * *

Tony reversed his climb pulling back into his opponent. With the G-override switch off he was able to pull tighter turns, but the computers would no longer restrict him from putting heavy G-forces on the Super Hornet that damaged the airframe. He glaced at his G-indicator on his HUD and saw he was pulling 8.9 forces of gravity. He could feel his warplane buckle and wine under the powerful pressures of the turn he was pulling as his body was punished by the G's. Krylov pulled into him as well. Both warriors overshot each other as they gained altitude. Both fighter pilots reversed their turn and overshot again, each aircraft rapidly bleeding speed. It was then that Tony saw that he was gaining the advantage. His Super Hornet's slow speed turning ability was allowing him to slowly fall behind the Su-50 in the vertical rolling scissors.

Just then Tony and Krylov overshot with Tony behind his adversary. Tony reversed his turn and turned inside his opponent for a gunshot. At that moment Krylov did something that caught Tony off guard. Krylov activated full thrust vectoring and, while he was still climbing, forced the nose of his Su-50 backward down at the Super Hornet. The Russian Ace was now climbing upward with his nose pointing downward at Tony, who was in a climb after him at a lower altitude and trying to steer his gun sight towards him.

Tony squeezed the trigger and Krylov did the same. Both guns on each warplane went ablaze with fire. Tony's line of fire went a little too high and he pulled harder towards his opponent to adjust, but the aim of the Russian ace was more precise. Green tracers raced only a couple feet by Tony's left wing and kept coming closer, forcing him to pull harder and pass away from Krylov.

Just then Tony received a warning in his cockpit. It was a warning of the worst kind in this type of situation: his gun had jammed. Now none of his weapons worked. He was completely disarmed. As the American ace's nose went level with the horizon he saw that he had lost a lot speed from the vertical rolling scissors. He went nose low to regain speed and banked hard left to turn back into his enemy.

The Russian also lost a lot of speed from the maneuver. With his nose still pointed earthward the Russian fighter pilot soon lost all momentum and stopped climbing. Krylov hit the afterburners to descend and regain speed. He was at roughly the same altitude when Tony turned back inside. Krylov countered the move, which put both him and Tony into a descending spiral.

In the vertical rolling scissors the advantage was to the Super Hornet, but the Su-50 had the better turning rate in the descending spiral. Krylov was surprised that Tony had gotten the advantage in the first move of this fight, but this time he was not going to underestimate him. The cold-blooded Russian was not going to give his American opponent any quarter.

As the spiral descended lower and lower to the earth Tony saw that Krylov was gaining the advantage and sliding behind him. This greatly worried the American. He was now on the defensive and needed to find a way to survive. It was then that he remembered the cloud of fog below that Feng had disappeared into. Tony went into a dive and flew straight into the fog, causing Krlov to lose sight of him as he went into the cloud. At the same time Tony activated his radar and set it to Terrain Avoidance mode as he pulled nose level inside the fog and navigated using only his radar.

* * *

Krylov pulled up high above the fog and activated his AESA radar. He was able to see Tony through the fog and watched him as he turned behind a mountain and disappeared. This immediately put them both into a neutral advantage again, with neither having sight of the other. Krylov decided to linger around and see if Tony still wanted to fight.

* * *

Tony gained some distance from the Russian as he went through the mountains. When he thought he had gained enough distance he turned around and pulled high above the mountains and back above the fog. Right then his RWR went off indicating that he had been locked onto by Krylov. It was then that he realized the Russian aviator was only 5 miles at his three o'clock.

He looked over and saw the distinct shape of the Su-50 turning into him. Tony immediately turned towards Krylov as well. This set them up for another classic merge. Tony was determined to kill Krylov more than he was determined to live at this moment. It didn't matter that he was unarmed.

* * *

Krylov acquired a radar lock on Tony. He thought that Tony was going to turn at the merge so he kept his course straight, waiting for the turn so that he could soon use the Su-50's superior turn rate to gain the advantage. Instead Tony began making adjustments to keep him on a course directly for a collision. At 0.2 miles away Krylov came to a stark realization that Tony was going to intentionally crash into him. The Russian ace tried to pull into a climbing left turn to avoid getting hit, but he made the move too late.

* * *

A split second before the collision Tony closed his eyes and gave a battle cry. He could feel his aircraft violently shake at the impact.

* * *

**Red Crown: This is not the end. There is more. I know this was short, but the fight between Krylov and Tony is all I was inspired to write at the moment. ****It was also taking me long to update because I am still having great difficulty deciding what I want the outcome of this conflict to be. I have narrowed it down to three options for the ending: one is tragic, one is happy, and the last one is bitter-sweet. The answer will be revealed next chapter. **More reviews will give me more inspiration to write and bring you the next chapter sooner.


	31. Jaded Disillusionment

**Okay so here's the deal. It has been REALLY bugging me as to whether or not the maker of the ACAH storyline plagiarized my work. It's has taken me a long time to update because I've been trying to find out what the legal process is for making a case like this. I've found that the first step is to submit my story in for a Similarity Review to a board of professionals that will determine if I have a case. If it turns out that I do in fact have a case then I am going to sue the maker of the ACAH storyline, a man named Jim Defelice. If I don't have a case I will feel relieved and keep going on as if nothing happened. **

**Anyway, I have also been taking a long time to update because this is a very pivotal chapter. Some problems get resolved and new ones appear. I have changed this chapter over and over and over. It went from bittersweet to tragic to happy then back to bittersweet and kept changing until I finally found the balanced medium that I was looking for.**

_"I will permit no man to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him."_ -Booker T. Washington

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE: _**"Jaded Disillusionment"**_

**Date: September 20th, 2015**

**Time: 0908 hours, 9:08 A.M. (Altai Mountain Time)**

**Location: Southern Russia, Altai Mountainous region**

Tony opened his eyes, amazed that he was still alive after the impact. He looked around him and saw that his jet was largely intact. He put his nose to the horizon and went wings level. To the surprise of the naval aviator his Super Hornet was virtually fine. He looked to his left and saw that his wingtip sidewinder rail was gone along with three feet of his left wing. Quickly he banked hard left to turn around and see what had become of Krylov.

He found the Russian stealth fighter at a lower altitude than his own. The left engine was on fire and exuded a bright flash of orange light as it violently exploded. The Red Czar went spiraling out of control towards the ground and Tony could see the flash of small rockets light off as his opponent ejected. A few seconds later a camouflage parachute became visible.

It was then that Tony pieced together what happened. Before the impact Krylov had attempted to maneuver away by pulling into a climbing right turn. Tony adjusted for the move before closing his eyes. Instead of a nose to nose collision the Super Hornet's wingtip missile rail snagged on the Su-50's left intake, causing the missile rail to rip off and get sucked up into the engine. The engine caught fire and exploded, destroying the Russian stealth fighter.

There was a switch in the Super Hornet that attempted to expel the jammed cartridge in the gun. Tony pressed the switch once in an attempt to get his gun back to fighting capacity. The computer told him that his gun was not jammed anymore. The American aviator thought that the collision with the Su-50 must have shaken his gun system and expelled the jammed round. Tony primed the gun again and was pleased to find that he had 367 rounds left. At that moment Tony's blood began to boil over one simple fact of reality: Krylov was still alive.

* * *

The Russian mercenary could feel the cold wind blow against his body as he was slowly brought down through the clouds on his nylon-lined parachute. He was surprised at what had just happened. He had been done in by a move that he wasn't counting on Tony making. At the same time he mentally scolded himself for not expecting such a move. It was the same move he would have made if their positions were reversed.

As he descended down to the mountains laden with woodlands he spotted the American fighter coming around and turning directly towards him. He watched as the Super Hornet slowed down and leveled its nose directly at him. A smirk came onto Krylov's face as he realized that Tony was about to kill him in the same exact manner he had done to the Typhoon pilot earlier.

_"I knew I was right. We aren't so different,_" he thought. As he waited for his impending death he merely reached into his flight suit and pulled out a small flask of high quality vodka that he saved for only special occasions. He unscrewed the top and took a drink from it._ "Looks like I'll be meeting Natasha sooner rather than later."_

* * *

Tony's radar was still set to GACQ mode. He received a lock on Krylov's descending parachute and his gun piper appeared on his HUD pointed directly at the parachute. In that split second he felt more focused than he had ever been in his entire life. His finger was on the trigger and already starting to squeeze it. He could feel his internal will being torn in two separate directions and causing him extreme mental strain. On one side of him, he wanted revenge more than anything in the world at that moment. The other side of him knew at that moment Krylov was no longer a threat there was no real justification or necessity to take his life. Killing him now would be an act only taken to satisfy the pure blood lust he had in his heart. It would be almost no different from an act of murder.

As Krylov got closer he could feel his thirst for that delicious revenge grow to a level that made it feel irresistible. The pure hatred for his enemy began to fill his mind and silence his conscious. His eyes began to lose their piercing gleam and became overwhelmed with jaded disillusionment. A cold emotionless feeling swept through him.

As the internal struggle waged he got closer to Krylov and was soon less than a mile away, partially because of hesitation and partially because he wanted to see the look on Krylov's face before he died. Soon Krylov's face came into view and he realized the Russian mercenary was smirking at him.

"No," Tony said as he let go of the trigger and pushed the nose down, allowing himself to fly underneath Krylov. As he passed under him he looked up at the Russian Ace and saw him drinking from a flask with the smirk still on his face. "I'm not like you," he whispered under his breath.

* * *

Krylov watched as the Super Hornet flew right under him. As the loud sound of jet engine turbines came near and then went behind him he merely took another drink and thought, _"Guess I was wrong. __If we meet again though he should not expect the same kind of mercy from me.__"_

The Russian Ace turned his head to look behind as the Super Hornet continued on. He couldn't help but noticed that there was a spray of liquid leaking out of the F/A-18E as it moved away.

Just then the Atlas let loose another shot. A bright beam of white light filled the sky to the north and disappeared into the upper atmosphere. As Krylov checked his watch he soon realized that the Atlas Laser's firing rate was actually increasing. As the operators of the laser fired it more they began to get a more perfect rhythm.

* * *

As Tony looked at his fuel indicator he realized that he was extremely low, far too low to do anything. He calculated in his mind trying to make it back to China and a stunning dread set in as he realized that he didn't have enough for that either. In fact he was leaking fuel at an incredible rate. There must have been some structural damage to his fuel tank during the fight. He had without doubt over stressed the airframe when he maneuvered pass the rated G-limit during the fight with Krylov. At the same time the jet experienced a mid-air collision that jarred everything around inside.

He was out of fuel in seconds. A warning alarm went off in his cockpit, letting him know that he was out and the engine turbines were slowing down. The humming of the engines died off and now all he could hear was the air passing over his wings as the jet went from powered flight to a steady glide.

The altimeter read 6,264 feet. He turned around and made a slow turn for China's border. The turn bled out all of his remaining speed. He was already at a low altitude where most pilots ejected from a damaged plane. The more Tony did this the more he risked not having enough of an opening for his parachute to deploy, but every mile of gliding he gained before he ejected was a mile he didn't have to travel on foot. The naval aviator watched as his altitude indicator dropped to 1,499 feet before he pulled the ejection handle.

His canopy was blown apart by small detonators. The ejection seat thrust him upward as the chilling cold oncoming air hit him like a flood. Through his visor he could see his Super Hornet speed ahead of him. He looked down and could see that he was fast approaching a thick brush of snowy trees. His parachute opened and caught the wind, slowing him down before he plunged into the brush. He could feel tree branches, leaves, and all sorts of things violently strike him. One branch hit him right in his visor, causing it to break and send broken pieces into his face. He shut his eyes to protect them and wasn't able to see anything. Just then he felt his parachute snag onto the strong alpine growth and yank him back. Tony swung back and his head slammed into something hard. The impact was enough to knock him unconscious.

* * *

Rasheed had shut off his radar so as not to alert the J-20 to his presence. The Iranian was at maximum afterburner chasing after the J-20 at Mach 1.8 and accelerating. He acquired a lock with an R-73 missile at 8 miles away and fired.

* * *

Feng banked left through the mountains and followed his satellite map. As he turned he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. When he looked at it directly he was surprised and frightened to find that it was the contrail of a missile heading straight for him. The Chinese pilot quickly punched out flares and turned his left bank into a hard left bank. The missile dived for one of the flares and detonated, leaving Feng unharmed.

The Chinese pilot lit his afterburners to get away. As he moved through the mountains he checked his six o'clock and spotted a fighter that he could recognize as an Su-30 painted in desert camouflage.

"That's problematic," he said.

The enemy Su-30 fighter closed the distance to 5 miles. The J-20 luckily had a rearward scanning radar that could detect incoming missiles and feed that data to the RWR. Warning alarms went off in Feng's cockpit as the RWR detected a second missile launch. Immediately he made a hard right bank and rolled over a mountain causing the missile to lose sight of him "Dragon One to all, I could use some assistance here!"

Feng waited for a reply, but he still received nothing. It was then that he realized that there was no one else available on any of his radio channels. The AWACS was gone, the Dark Horses were gone, and even his fellow Dragons were gone. He then decided to use a satellite communications system on his J-20 to send a request to his ground controller, who was using the radio callsign "Emperor."

"Emperor, Dragon One, give me my nearest positive IFF contact. Are there any friendlies in my area?"

The ground controller responded, "Dragon One, Emperor, Negative. You are the only one left."

A pause was heard over the radio as he accepted the gravity of what that meant. The entire weight of the mission now rested on him and there was no one left to help him fight his way out of enemy lines. "Affirmative, Emperor," was the only response he gave.

The skilled Chinese pilot selected the remaining two cruise missiles and checked his distance to the target. He was 19 miles away, which he thought was a good distance but still didn't make up for the fact that he now had another fighter on his six o'clock. He increased his throttle to maximum afterburner and kept the J-20 at a high speed through the mountains.

The Su-30 behind him fired another R-73 missile. Feng watched as the contrail streaked off of the aircraft's wing and steadily took chase after him. He responded by rolling left over a mountain peek, causing the missile to smash into rock as it tried to follow.

* * *

The J-20 was moving at mach 1.95 and accelerating. Rasheed was just starting to reach mach 2.1. The Iranian fighter pilot flipped his radar back on and locked onto the PLAAF fighter. His gun piper appeared on his HUD and he leveled it at the Chinese stealth fighter.

* * *

As the RWR for an enemy radar lock when off in Feng's cockpit he realized quickly that at this rate he probably was not going to make it close enough to the Atlas to get the distance he wanted to launch the cruise missiles. He had to either fight the Su-30 or launch the missiles. At that particular moment he developed a strategy in his head. He would launch the missiles and hopefully the Su-30 would change his pursuit to go after them, leaving the Chinese pilot one very short window of opportunity to maneuver behind the Su-30 and get a kill with the only air-to-air weapon he had mounted: his 30mm cannon.

The Su-30 opened fire and Feng immediately went into a climb so that he could get the missiles launched over the mountain peeks of the Altai. The enemy Su-30's rounds fell short and the pilot began pulling hard after his Chinese prey in hot pursuit. Feng opened the underbay doors of the J-20 and hit the pickle button twice. As soon as he could feel his aircraft lighten up from the release of the missiles he killed the afterburner, slammed on the airbrake, and executed a wild barrel roll that forced him to slow down.

* * *

Rasheed was now faced with a choice in a split moment. He could go after the J-20 and kill it or focus on the cruise missiles. If the Atlas laser was gone then the objective was lost. He switched his radar lock from the J-20 to both of the cruise missiles and selected 2 R-77Ms.

* * *

Feng's maneuver was perfect for what he wanted. It caused enough of a speed drop to allow the Su-30 to overtake him, but didn't bleed off too much speed so that he fell out of supersonic flight and out of gun range. He selected his gun and acquired a radar lock on his adversary. To get a gun solution behind the Su-30 Feng had to go into maximum afterburner and make a short left bank. With steady hands on the stick he aimed and squeezed the trigger. He watched as his rounds went after the Su-30 and made several hits. The powerful 30mm rounds detonated on the Russian designed aircraft's body and began ripping the entire aircraft apart. However, the damage was still not done fast enough. Before his 30mm rounds could completely destroy the Su-30 he saw two R-77M missiles drop from its wings. One of the missiles was hit with debris from the damaged Su-30, but the other R-77M ignited its engine and went straight for one of the cruise missiles.

He watched as the R-77M sped up to supersonic speed towards the cruise missile and discharged. The Chinese cruise missile's engine was hit and it tumbled out of control before falling earthward.

Feng checked his fuel and saw that he had just enough to make it back to his airstrip in China. He flipped a switch on one of his multi-functional displays and it showed a satellite feed on the progress of the supersonic cruise missile in a large geological map. He flipped the a switch on the second display and it showed a view of the IR camera in the cruise missile that was fed to him through a satellite connection. He then made a 180 degree turn and stayed low in case there were any other fighters that might be lurking around.

The cruise missile leaped over mountain after mountain and hugged the earth's surface. It closed the distance extremely fast. Just then he could see through the IR camera as the missile spotted a nearly white hot metal rod the size of a blue whale sticking out of the side of a mountain cave. The missile seeker immediately recognized it as excess heat from the laser fire and the metal rod as the Atlas.

Just then two Pantsir S1 batteries that had been laying under camouflage netting next to the cave entrance had their operators pull their covers back. They both acquired a missile lock on the Chinese cruise missile and opened fire on it with multiple missile shots. Feng could see through the IR imaging seeker as the missile took a direct hit from a head on SA-22 missile.

"Shit!" he shouted into his radio. The mission was a failure.

Immediately he got back into contact with his ground controller. "Emperor, Dragon One, I'm out of cruise missiles. Mission failed."

"Dragon One, Emperor, a second six ship formation of Su-27s has been mobilized. They are moving directly toward your location. You need to exit the area now!"

"Affirmative, Emperor," he replied. "Returning to base"

* * *

Tony awoke with a massive headache. He paused for a brief moment to let his mind process what he had just survived. As he did this all the adrenaline from the mission was beginning to wear off. He could feel stinging pain from gashes and lacerations that he had received from the brush. His body felt weakened from the crushing G-forces he had experienced. The cold air made his wounds sting as they chilled his skin. He could feel small broken pieces of glass from his visor that had dug into the left side of his face and one particularly large piece that was lodged into his left eyebrow. If he had ejected at a higher altitude his parachute would have had more time to slow him down and he wouldn't have entered the tree brush so hard._ "Maybe walking the extra miles wouldn't have been such a bad thing after all,"_ he thought to himself.

He looked down and saw that he was dangling by his nylon lines 25 feet off the ground. There was snow below him but he had no idea how deep it was. Tony reached on his person and grabbed the flashlight from his survival gear. He dropped the flashlight and watched as it sank two feet into the snow, which meant that he would still have some cushion when he landed but he was still in for a rough landing. There was a branch from one of the trees that reached out 10 feet underneath him, but he wasn't sure if he could grab it to slow his descent in time or if the branch would hold his weight.

"Great," he sarcastically mumbled before unlocking the clasps that held him to his parachute. The American could feel his body accelerate earthward before he grabbed at the branch. His gloved hands snagged it tightly. The branch flexed under his weight for an instant, then snapped. Tony fell the remaining 15 feet down and landed flat on his back with the flashlight digging into his thigh.

He quickly got on his feet and touched his face to find five broken pieces of visor glass dug into his flesh. Four of them were small. He was able to pull them out of his left jaw and cheek with only a little pain. However, the one that was jammed into his left brow hurt like crazy when he pulled it out. Hot blood gushed out of the wound and slid down the side of his face. Tony examined the piece in his hand and found that it had gone more than half an inch into his skull._ "Hope that one doesn't give me brain damage down the road,"_ he thought as he tossed the piece aside. With that done he picked up his flashlight and went deeper into the woods to head south towards China. He undoubtedly knew that if any of the other Dark Horses had survived they would be heading south to the Chinese border just the same. Part of him wanted to dwell on the loss of his wingmen, especially Sophie, but right now he knew he had to push that back from his mind and keep moving.

* * *

Feng climbed out of his cockpit after parking his jet on a tarmac at the base. He was frustrated and angry. The failure of the mission he put on himself and to top it all off he found that everyone he went with was either dead or missing. With those Pantsir S1's and a new squadron of Su-27s watching over the Atlas the only way to take it out now was to use China's national armed forces, which he knew his government was not going to do. China needed to have good relations with Russia to ensure its own security in the area. There was no way his government would risk a shooting war with Russia over this.

The PLAAF pilot went straight to the command center to get some answers. When he entered he found the Political Officer of his squadron standing right in front of him. "You have failed China," the political officer said. "Now the Russians will obtain their superpower empire and the Middle Kingdom will be in danger."

The weight of those words also hurt Feng. He then decided to ask the question that was burning on his mind. "Any word on what happened to the Dark Horses?"

"You need not worry about them, Feng."

"Does that mean they'll be alright?"

"No, you will never see them again."

Feng was surprised. "What? Why not?"

"Because our special forces were already in Russia below the combat area before the mission had begun. They have recovered most of the pilots from your squadron and have orders to shoot the Dark Horses on sight if they escape capture from the Russians."

This time Feng was confused. "Why are we betraying them? They were our allies," he said.

The political officer merely sneered. "Don't be a fool. China still needs to maintain its relationship with Russia for security along our own borders. This can still be done by showing them that we are not a pawn of the west and that we only acted in our own interests. The Russians are obviously going to want reparations for this and there are none better than handing them the western pilots that carried out the mission."

Feng was greatly distressed to hear this. He slowly walked over to one of the empty chairs in the room and took a seat. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands before staring at the floor in disbelief.

The political officer turned towards the door. Before he left the room he said, "To conceal just how deeply our involvement in this mission was, you know as well as I do that it's best if the Russians find them dead."

* * *

Tony walked forward and watched the sky be illuminated once again by Atlas' fire. The bright white beam shot into the sky. Tony took a moment to look at his watch and found that it read 1231. He didn't realize that he had been out of consciousness for the past three hours. He looked up and just now noticed how far the sun had moved. If three hours had gone by since he lost consciousness then surely that meant that the mission had failed. As if to make matters worse the fact that the Atlas had been firing for three hours meant that it had already knocked out a good amount of US military satellites. This also meant that the fighting in the Middle East had been already going on for several hours as well.

At the same time he knew that now the world would see the true nature of the Biblical prophecy in the book of Ezekiel. If there really was a blessing over Israel then that meant nothing on earth could destroy the Jewish State until the prophecy had been fulfilled.

The only good thing he knew at that moment was the fact that if the Russians hadn't been able to pick him up in those three hours it meant that they probably didn't know where he went down. For the now he could move with concealment and he wanted to keep moving. Subconsciously he knew that the moment he stopped to rest would be the moment he let his mind dwell on other things.

* * *

**Red Crown: I had to deal with some depression lately and I'm over that now. Thanks for the fuel guys who reviewed. Also, you may have noticed that I have left some of your questions unanswered. I plan on answering many of them in my next chapter. Also, I have finally settled on some good callsigns that I plan on giving my pilots. Everyone keeps bugging me about the callsigns and I decided that I want to give them near the end of this story arc. I'm just used to writing the names as they are now and I don't want to cause more confusion later. As always, more reviews will lead to a sooner update!**


	32. Hardened Resolve

**Red Crown: Again, my apologies for taking so long to update last time. Here's another chapter to make it up. Enjoy!**

_"No precious jewels or valued stones are as valuable as the blood of a nation's patriots."_ -Black Owl

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO: _**"Hardened Resolve"**_

**Date: September 20th, 2015**

**Time: 1334 hours, 1:34 P.M. (Altai Mountain Time)**

******Location: ****Southern Russia, Altai Mountainous region**

Pat felt like she had been used as a car fender in a demolition derby. The ejection had done all but kill her. She was just glad that she had landed in a flat plain of gentle grass that thankfully gave her a soft landing. After checking her compass Pat began traveling south. She had no intention being captive in the hands of the Russians ever again. The naval aviator traveled south for at least four hours before finding herself in the bottom of a valley. However, at the bottom of the valley was a lake with pure water. As she reached the lake she was please to find that it was very clean, untouched by any kind of urban-based pollution.

The American pilot took her gloves off to keep them dry and knelt down on rocks by the river to take a drink. Pat scooped up the cold water in her hands and sipped it lightly. As the refreshing liquid slid down her throat she thought she saw some shadows move out of the corner of her eye. Immediately she dropped what she was doing and made a mad sprint for the cover of some bushes. She managed to find a thick tree that had fallen over. She jumped behind the trunk of the tree and waited.

She exhaled and could see her breath leave her mouth. It was then that she realized her breathing was visible from afar. She quickly scooped up some snow and put it in her mouth, which cooled her breath before it exited and made it invisible in the crisp air. Pat pressed her body low to the ground and behind the log. It was then that she spotted a small curve in the ground beneath where the log rested. It allowed her the perfect view point while simultaneously keeping her cover maintained. She laid prone behind the log and put her eye to the curve.

For some reason she felt like she was being watched. She dared not move at all and held that same position for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only ten minutes. Suddenly a group of twelve soldiers came out of a hiding place near the bank of the lake. Pat knew very well what Chinese special forces looked like when she saw them and she could swear that the ones before her were from her native country. The most notable thing about them were their Type-95 assault rifles.

_"How did Chinese soldiers get behind Russian lines so fast? Why were they behind Russian lines in the first place?"_ she thought.

During her briefs with the PLAAF they had never told her anything about Chinese special forces being in the area to help them. If anything she remembered them telling her that if she went down she would be captured by the Russians "without a doubt." Pat thought about waiving to them and making herself known, but something still did not feel right to her. They were only about 30 feet away and that was just enough for Pat to hear them talking in her native tongue. One of the Chinese soldiers found her gloves that she had left by the edge of the lake and picked them up.

"I swear I saw her right here. Look here, Sergeant," said the soldier as he held the gloves up.

The soldier that was now identified as a sergeant replied. "I saw her too. She can't have gone far. If you find her then take her out and send her position though the satellite feed to H-Q. They'll notify the Russians of where to find the body."

Pat was not surprised in anyway by this and remained completely unshaken by the development. "Never trusted them in the first place," she mumbled. Just then one of the soldiers who sported a set of infra-red goggles looked in her direction. Pat pushed herself flat up against the trunk and hoped that it would conceal her.

The soldier with the goggles spoke. "Sergeant, there's nothing here. We need to move. Our satellite has detected several Russian Spetsnaz and FSB units sweeping through this area. The Russians still don't know that we're here, but it could get ugly if they find us or any of the others. She's probably gaining ground south to head towards our border. The other Dark Horses were also shot down south of here."

"Let's hope she doesn't get that far. That would make it more difficult to keep the People's Republic from being incriminated in the hostile action that occurred today."

Shortly after the Sergeant said those words Pat could hear footsteps pounding away in a hurry. At that moment she decided to look though the small curve under the tree trunk to watch the soldiers leave. If any of her squadron mates were to survive they had to know not to trust the Chinese. She had a radio but it only had about 25 miles on it. The area where the Dark Horses could have gone down spanned at least 100 miles in all directions from where she was at. Most likely the rest of her wingmen were to her south. She decided to get up and head down another route that went south so as to avoid the soldiers.

Pat began moving through the trees and alpine terrain while following her compass. She looked down for a moment to reach for one of the candy bars that was deep in her flight gear. However, her cold hands began to tremble and she dropped the bar. The naval aviator bent down to grab it again, but when she stood up she found herself face to face with four men wearing FSB uniforms. Three of them were combat equipped operatives complete with body armor, helmets, masks, and tactical AKS-74U compact assault rifles. The last one was wearing an officer uniform. She was startled because she did not even hear them sneaking up on her. It was then that she could slowly feel the cold sense of fear start to set in.

"You need to come with us," said the officer in surprisingly perfect English.

"Not on your life!" Pat shouted and reached for her Beretta M9 pistol. She flipped the safety off and pulled the slide back, but before her finger could find the trigger all four men rushed her. They wrestled the pistol away from her. A panic swept through her mind at the thought of being held captive a second time. She then reached for her jagged edged survival knife.

"Listen, we're not who you think!" shouted another one of the men in perfect English.

"Kiss my ass!" she stabbed one of the men holding her in the arm and he let her go.

The officer began losing his patience with this fight. "That's it! Knock her out."

One of the men punched her in the face and Pat was put out of commission instantly.

* * *

When Chance woke up he was in a car. Everything seemed fuzzy at first. The car was moving and had bright lights placed in the ceiling that were pointed down at him. He glanced around and noticed that there were two people sitting in separate seats on either side that faced him. They were both wearing dark blue uniforms and had a red cross that was on their shoulder and on the front of the blue ball cap-style hats that they were wearing. Once the fuzziness in his vision cleared up the Canadian realized that he was in an ambulance. The people hanging over him were paramedics and he could not understand a single word of the Russian that they were speaking.

The ambulance came to a halt. Chance lifted his head to look around. He was strapped to a stretcher and had a large blanket over his body. There was a lot of blood soaked into the blanket. He was amazed he could not a feel a thing. "Who are you people? Does anyone here speak English?" he asked. They did not answer him. A rush of cold wind filled the ambulance as the doors opened. The paramedics brought Chance out of the vehicle and moved him through a set of glass doors into a hospital. They went straight to the emergency room.

"Why am I in a hospital?" he asked. They did not respond to him this time either. One of the paramedics lifted the blanket and that is when Chance saw his body. His arms and his legs were heavily thrashed from falling into the thickest tree brush of one particular mountainside. His chest and midsection were fine because of thick flight gear that shielded them. He guessed his helmet protected his head and face from the brush as well. His flight suit was in taters and had been ripped apart almost completely. Below the taters of his olive drab flight suit his skin looked like it had been put to a cheese grater. Cuts, gashes, and lacerations were littered about his limbs. Deep in the wounds were several splinters and pieces of bark from the trees he hit. He could not even feel anything because someone had given him a dose of powerful drugs that numbed the pain as well as everything else.

"I am the only one here that speaks English," said one of the female paramedics with a thick Russian accent as she began to cut off his flight gear with a knife. She wore a surgical mask, hat, and glasses that completely hid her face. "Do you understand?"

"Yes. Where am I? What are you guys doing to me?"

"We are trying to treat you so you do not die," she said as if it was a matter of fact. "You are in a hospital in southern Russia. Some children found you hanging from a tree unconscious and called for an ambulance. This is the only hospital in the area within a fifty mile radius that has the equipment to treat you. How are you feeling?" she asked as she inserted an IV needed that Chance could not even feel.

"Numb."

"Good." She then pointed towards the side of the room. "Are they with you?"

Chance turned his head and looked to see on separate hospital beds were Nathan and a very pale Sophie only a couple feet away. Nathan was wincing as two paramedics were cleaning the holes in his thighs, which had ripped open again as a result of the ejection. Sophie was unconscious and had an oxygen mask on. She was also drenched in water and looked like she was suffering from hypothermia. All her flight gear and clothes had been pulled off and thick blankets were wrapped around the British woman's body in an attempt to warm her. An IV line disappeared into the blanket that was streaming warm water to the British pilot while a heater was placed near her head.

"Yes. They're with me," the Canadian replied to the paramedic. "Hey, Nathan!"

Nathan looked over and saw his comrade in arms. "Chance, you're alive! How are you holding up?"

"Terribly. We need to find a way to get out of here and back to China before Russian police show up."

"How do you plan to do that? I can't even walk," Nathan replied.

Chance merely shrugged in the classic I-don't-know fashion. "I'm so high on these drugs right now I can't feel my body."

"I wish they gave me drugs. I landed right in the middle of a small town and my thighs gave out when I tried to walk. Some old lady called the ambulance for me."

"What happened to Sophie?"

"I don't know. She was still out when I got here. They said she was fished out of a lake or something by the locals. She was laying in ice cold water for a while. I don't think she's doing too well."

Just then the only English speaking paramedic looked at Chance and said, "Listen, I think you are going to be fine. I am going to call our doctor. I will be right back." She then left the room. It was at that moment that Chance decided to ask a question that he did not want her to hear.

"Did they take your sidearm?" The Canadian asked in a slightly lower voice.

Nathan checked his holster, which was located under the flight gear on his waist and found his United States Air Force issue Glock 19. "No, I've still got it."

"Good, cause I'm kind of useless right now with these drugs in me. You're the only defense we've got if someone tries to take us."

Nathan nodded his head confirming that he understood what Chance was saying. "I'll hold down the fort."

The paramedic soon walked back into the room and added something to Chance's IV, causing him to get suspicious. "What's that?" he asked her.

The Russian paramedic added the clear liquid through a needle into the IV bag. "Just something to prepare you before we clean your wounds. We do not want you moving around too much or suffering through the pain."

"But I thought the drugs you gave me were working just fine."

"That is because that was opium and it was all we had available. This is an anesthetic."

Chance looked at her with stunned disbelief. "Wait, you gave me what?"

A steady of flow of anesthesia was introduced into his blood stream and the Canadian fighter pilot went right back to sleep.

* * *

As Tony walked further he found himself at a road. Wherever there was a road there were usually people at one end. He decided to follow the road but walked several feet along side it so that he was still hidden in the brush. The fact remained that he was getting hungry, thirsty, and tired. In the particular area he was in food was scarce. He estimated that it would take him about three days to reach the border if he was walking on foot the whole way. From what he knew the average Russian citizen was nice, but he had no idea if any of them would be willing to drive a person who was fighting against their government to the border of China.

Tony checked his watch and found that the time was just turning to 1645. He had been traveling for over four hours with no rest and the few food items that he had on him had been consumed already. He was out of water and was not sure if the wounds on his body were getting infected or not. He was pretty sure that he needed a doctor to look at the gash in his left eye brow as well. Just then he saw a car approaching from the road ahead. After observing it for a few seconds he recognized it as a civilian Lada car. It was far up the road and coming toward him. The car was moving in the opposite direction of the Chinese border, but at the moment Tony did not think he was in a position to complain.

He walked towards the road and stuck his hand out in an attempt to get the driver to stop. He did not think it would work, but to his amazement the driver slowed down. Tony walked closer to the car and found an old man in a lab coat at the wheel. He had glasses on and looked very well educated.

Tony started the conversation by saying, "Please tell me you speak English."

"Yes. Where are you from?"

Tony paused. He was still wearing his flight gear and it was obvious that he was part of a military outfit. If he told the driver he was from America he was not sure if the man would drive away. Tony had another problem. He did not exactly look slavic either so it was not like he could say he was from any of the countries of the surrounding area. In the end he decided to just tell the truth. "I'm American."

"Are you a spy?" the driver asked.

"I'm a pilot," Tony replied. At this moment he doubted that the old man would believe anything else.

"We're you on a mission against Russia?"

"Yes."

"Did you succeed?"

"No."

The driver merely shrugged and said, "Get in."

Tony walked over to the passenger side and opened the door. Part of him was interested as to why this man did not seem surprised to see him at all. As he was moving to sit down the driver asked, "Where are you trying to go?"

"The Chinese border," Tony replied as the driver applied gas and started down the road.

The driver shot him a look that seemed as if to question his sanity. "On foot?"

"Yeah."

"You would not have made it. There are bears, wolves, and all sorts of things in that direction that would eat you in the night."

"Oh," Tony said. It was then that he thought it was a good thing he decided to get a ride with this man before nightfall came. "So where are you going?"

"A hospital sixteen miles down here. I am the only doctor for this area and they called me to examine three patients that came in today. Apparently they are all pilots like you. At least that is what one of my paramedics told me."

"Wow, this is perfect," Tony said thinking out load. "No wonder you didn't seem surprised to see me. How are they? Did you hear anything about what they looked like?"

The doctor seemed hesitant to answer. "Two of them are going to be fine," the doctor began. "However, one of them is a woman and they fear she will not make it."

Tony knew that in all likelihood the woman was Pat. In his mind, there was no way Sophie could have survived what happened to her.

* * *

**Location: Moscow, Russian Federation**

President Chemezov was sitting in a bunker of sorts located in his capital city. In front of him were several monitors all with maps and live feeds of areas in Israel where the war was progressing. Tactical displays were located up front with many operators coordinating the assault with the armies of their Islamic allies.

A smirk was on his face as he saw that the assault was making progress even if the progress was slow. It started with a volley of supersonic cruise missiles aimed at crucial facilities, which was fended off by their advanced missile shield system and US-Israeli made Arrow missiles. The Jewish state had F-15Is and F-16Is rapidly in the air and dogfighting with the Arab-Islamic nations for aerial superiority immediately. Russian and Arab armor rolled into the contested territory and were met with heavy gun fire from IDF tanks and helicopter gunships. The Israelis were holding their own and inflicting heavy damage on attacking Islamic forces. However, the Israel Defense Forces were also burning through ammunition and supplies. The Russian-Arab coalition was taking many more casualties, but whatever it lost to battle it was quickly able to replace. Chemezov knew that victory was assured. Right now it was not even looking as if Israel was going to last the rest of the day.

For the most part many of the Arab allies had volunteered their armies to be the first to go in for the assault. They thought taking part in the first invasion force would be a great glory. President Chemezov was all too happy to let them do it since it meant that they would take all the damage, keeping most Russian forces out of the line of fire until the IDF ran out of their high end munitions.

One monitor that was far off to the right side of his bunker and larger than the others held his particular interest. It was a map of the world that had been constructed using satellites and ground-based radar that showed in real time all of the objects in Earth orbit. The view went 1500 kilometers out, allowing the viewer to see the entire planet. The Russian President observed as a beam was fired from the Altai region and it vaporized another US satellite. His smirk grew deeper.

_"First the State of Israel, then it will be the American's turn. I love it when a plan comes together,"_ he thought to himself.

Just then he saw a large mass of foreign objects from space descend upon the image of the globe from the 1500 kilometer marker. At first it startled him, but then he came to the conclusion that it must have been a mistake or a glitch. He turned to one of the many operators at the station and told him to fix the display.

"There's no mistake, sir. It's working perfectly."

"Then what the hell is all that?" replied Chemezov.

"It looks like a meteor shower, sir. "

* * *

Tony watched as the car came to a halt outside a three story building with the red cross on the front above a set of glass double doors. The hospital seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere. "Come with me," the old doctor said as he stepped out of the car and walked towards the double doors. Tony complied. One of the female paramedics saw them through the glass and opened the doors to rush them inside. She began to talk to the doctor excitedly in Russian, which Tony could not understand a word of.

The naval aviator followed both of them into the hospital and they led him through several hallways that went to the emergency room. As they went to the emergency room Tony looked at the floor and could not help but to notice that there was a trail of blood on the floor that lead from the main doors to the room. When Tony entered the first thing he saw was a drugged Chance getting his wounds cleaned by three nurses. Nathan was in a stretcher with both his thighs bleeding from the holes. It was at that moment that Tony spotted Sophie.

"Sophie!" he said and rushed to her side. A wave of relief that was too good for words swept over him.

Nathan seem startled by Tony's sudden presence in the room. "Where did you come from?"

"Down south," Tony replied. "How's Sophie?"

Just then the old doctor approached Sophie's stretcher and examined her. "It is too early to tell. Let's not move her anywhere though. Moving her could make her condition worse. It looks like her parachute did not open when she ejected," he said.

"No, it opened alright. It was shot out and she fell from five thousand feet," Tony replied.

Nathan heard this and was shocked. "Who's the asshole that did that?"

"The Red Czar," Tony replied with venom in his voice.

The old doctor then looked at several machines that were monitoring Sophie's vitals. "That explains why she seems to have suffered some sort of heavy impact trauma. My paramedic told me that she landed in a lake that was covered by a canopy of trees. Her parachute caught the trees and slowed her down somewhat, but she still hit the water surface very hard. The water was ice cold and they were not able to reach her for hours so she is also suffering from hypothermia. Had she landed any where else she would be dead for sure. It is a miracle that she is even alive."

"Thank God," Tony mumbled under his breath.

It was then that Tony looked over at Chance. He remembered that Chance had ejected at a fairly low altitude just the same. However, Chance ejected at a much higher speed than Tony and was thrashed far worse by thicker tree brush. "How's Chance doing?" he asked.

"I am assuming he is the Canadian one over there," the female paramedic said in English with a thick accent. She took off her latex gloves that were wet with Chance's blood. "He has suffered some bad cuts and lost a lot of blood, but it is nothing that a few nights rest will not fix."

Just then one of the nurses working to clean Chance's wounds gave a yelp of fright. A blood clot that had been lying dormant in Chance's leg exploded after a splinter was pulled out. A burst of crimson fluid squirted out from the wound and splashed on the floor. Tony spotted a nearby towel and snatched it up before rushing down on one knee to wipe up his friend's blood.

As Tony did this he was overcome with a sense of humility. All his squadron mates had done their jobs in the face of overwhelming odds. Each one had shown the utmost valor in combat and each one had shed their own blood in the process. He almost could not believe that he had been tasked to lead them. He felt unworthy of such an honor. At the same time a part of him felt like he had not done enough for them. The mission was not a success, Scorch was dead, Pat was missing, and Sophie was in critical condition. He decided that right now blaming himself was not going to make things any better. The men and women of the Dark Horses were the best warriors their generation had to offer. Tony believed that they deserved the best leader. A good leader would do all he could to get them out of Russia and back into allied hands as soon as possible. When he stood up with the towel soaking red in his hands the resolve in his mind was once again hardened.

It was then that the female paramedic asked him, "You look injured as well. Do you need to be examined?"

"No. I'm fine," he replied.

"Are you the leader of this little outfit?"

Tony answered with a hint of pride in his voice. "Yes, I am."

"Then you are the one the police are going to want to see when they show up here right?"

"What police?"

It was then that Tony looked through a window outside and saw an armored car pulling up to the hospital parking lot. On the car were painted three large white Cyrillic characters that he did happen to know from the Russian language: FSB.

"Damn," Tony said. Apart from the fact that he was surprised at himself cursing he found that he really did not care what words came out of his mouth at that moment. He needed to keep his pilots safe. The American naval aviator took one last glance at each of his wingmen and realized that none of them could move. He was the only one able to even walk. Tony looked outside again and watched as the car doors opened. Out of the car came a single FSB officer and three combat equipped FSB operatives armed with AKS-74U assault rifles.

"There's another exit in the back," Nathan said, causing Tony to look at him. "If you go now you might be able to slip by without them seeing you."

"I'm not going anywhere," Tony responded tersely.

"What's your plan?"

"Don't have one yet," Tony replied as he unholstered his Navy issue M9 Beretta pistol, flipped the safety off, pulled the slide back, and chambered a round.

Nathan had no idea what was going to happen but he decided to follow suit and pulled out his Glock 19. "You know we don't stand a chance right?"

As they did this the nurses and paramedics in the room began to get nervous. The old doctor immediately became defensive. "Listen, American, if any of my staff is harmed in this I will pray to God that you live a cursed existence if you survive!" he yelled at Tony.

Just then the FSB group walked through the glass doors and entered the hospital.

* * *

**Red Crown: I think I'll stop there for now. Yes, I am cruel, but my writing engines are back online and the more reviews I get the more fuel they will have available. Thank you all of you who supported me in this adventure. It has been and will continue to be a blast. More reviews brings you a sooner update!**


	33. Fire

_"We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender."_ -Winston Churchill

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE:_**"Fire"**_

**Date: September 20th, 2015**

**Time: 1721 hours, 5:21 P.M. (Altai Mountain Time)**

**Location: Southern Russia, Altai Mountainous region**

The FSB group walked into the hospital. They did not have to look far to find the group of downed pilots that had penetrated their airspace. There was a trail of blood that gave them the directions they needed. One nurse tried to stop them and tell them it was not a good time to apprehend them. The FSB officer merely shoved her aside and marched right into the emergency room, combat operatives not far behind.

When the FSB entered the room Tony, who stood in the middle of the room, lifted his Beretta and aimed it directly at the officer of the group. Nathan did the same with his Glock 19. The FSB combat operatives lifted their guns and aimed them at the two American pilots. A tense standoff ensued.

Tony took a glance at the AKS-74U's in the hands of the operatives and noticed that they were on the full auto setting, meaning that he knew he would be obliterated if any shooting started. Tony looked at the barrel of the gun and slowly swallowed his own spit. Death was literally a trigger pull away and all he could think about was trying keep his wingmen safe, especially Sophie.

Nathan on the other hand held the value of his life very loosely at that moment. He had been captured before and was more than willing to die before he was taken captive again. In his mind a shootout that resulted in his own death was preferable.

"You do not stand a chance," said the officer. "You are better off dropping your weapons and coming with us."

"No one's taking me or my men," Tony replied sternly.

"So we all die then?" the officer asked. The FSB officer looked right into Tony's eyes. Tony's piercing brown eyes were fiercely looking back. The FSB officer was convinced that Tony was borderline crazy in this particular situation. He was not sure if the US pilot was really willing to engage in a shoot out that would result in the death of multiple people in the room rather than come quietly. The officer become unsure if he was looking at an insane person. "Everyone leave the room immediately!" he shouted.

The doctor, the paramedics, and the nurses dropped what they were doing and rushed out of the room in hurry. This left only the FSB team alone with Tony, Nathan, a drugged Chance, and an unconscious Sophie in the emergency room. The sound of foot steps running far down the hallway died off in seconds leaving a silence in the room.

Just then the officer spoke in an Australian accent that took both Nathan and Tony aback. "Listen, mate, you need to stop being such a piker and let us rescue you."

Tony and Nathan exchanged a glance confirming that both of them had no idea what was going on. When he got no response the FSB officer made a motion for his men to lower their guns, which they obeyed. The officer spoke again. "We're not really FSB. We're SASR and were recruited by the CIA."

"What's the SASR?"

"Special Air Service Regiment. We're Aussies. Your government never trusted the Chinese and sent us here in under cover ops to make sure that any of you shot down made it back safely. We've been disguised as police officers since yesterday."

"How can we trust you?" asked Nathan. Both him and Tony refused to lower their guns.

"We have your friend in the back of our ute outside. Name's 'Patricia' I reckon," said one of the operatives who also sported an Australian accent.

Nathan and Tony looked at each other again and were unsure of how to gauge this. They also had no clue as to what a "ute" was. "What does our friend look like?" Tony asked.

"If I had to guess I'd say she's of Chinese origin. She's got long hair, a flat-chest, and a lanky body," the officer replied.

Both Tony and Nathan had to admit that was a fairly accurate description of Pat. They slowly lowered their pistols. "So assuming we believe you, where do we go from here," asked Nathan.

"We need to get you out of here right now. There are Chinese special forces in the area looking for you."

Nathan cocked an eyebrow. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"No, they're trying to kill you, mate. Your government knew they would try to do it before the operation started," said one of the operatives.

Nathan merely looked back at the operative for a moment, before quietly accepting the reality in his mind and rhetorically asking, "Man, why can't we get a break for once?"

The SASR officer walked out of the emergency room and told the doctor and the nurses to prepare the western pilots for transport. Several of the nurses rushed back into the room and came with two wheeled stretchers. They lowered Nathan into one and put Chance, who was still asleep, into the other. The nurses then rushed them out of the room to the armored car outside.

Tony saw that one of the SASR operatives was approaching Sophie's stretcher, which had no wheels, to lift it at one end.

"The doctor said we shouldn't move Sophie or it might make her worse," Tony told him with concern.

"Well, whatever happens to her if she's moved certainly couldn't be worse than what the Chinese or the real Russian police have planned for her," replied the Australian operative as he went to the feet of her stretcher and picked up one end. Tony carefully grabbed the head-side end and lifted as well.

He and the SASR operative carried the British pilot out of the building and began making their way toward the armored car. A nurse opened the glass doors for them and they carried her outside. As they did this Tony looked down and saw Sophie's jade green eyes slowly open. Her gaze looked extremely weak, but the motion of being carried had woken her up. When she looked up the first thing she saw was Tony. "Tony, what's going on?" she asked.

"Everything's fine, Sophie. Just go back to sleep," he replied. Tony wanted her to get as much rest as possible so she would get better. Sophie felt too tired to seek more information and she closed her eyes to fall back into her slumber.

The operative and Tony reached the armored car, which he recognized as a GAZ-233114 Tigr-M multipurpose 4×4. The Tigr-M was similar to the Humvee in looks and purpose. The back of the car was open and on the inside were three chairs lined across each side, all of which were facing inward. Between the chairs in the middle was a large open space, half of which was taken up by Chance's stretcher. Nathan was sitting strapped into one of the chairs and just like the SASR operatives had said, Pat was sitting strapped into the seat across from him. However, Pat had been tied up and gagged with duck tape, causing Tony to wonder why the Australian team had taken such strong measures toward her. He got his answer when one of the SASR operatives walked up to her and less than gently ripped the duck tape off her mouth, causing Pat to let out a frustrated groan before spitting out her gag.

"Here's the rest of your team. Believe us now, sheila?" the operative asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Pat said reluctantly. "Sorry for stabbing you," she added.

"No worries, mate," the operative said as he took a seat next to her.

They carefully loaded Sophie inside and laid her next to Chance. The SASR operatives then climbed in and sat into the chairs as well. The officer forcefully pushed Tony in at gun point in order to put on a show for the hospital staff that was watching. The Australian officer then went around and climbed into the driver seat before starting the engine.

It was then that Tony realized how the SASR team had found them. They had the police radio for the entire area. If anyone called the emergency services then they instantly knew the location of the call and the description of the situation. All they had to do was listen for calls about shot down pilots or foreigners and head straight for them. They could also hear ambulance calls to the hospital. They had a simple and very ingenious method of observing traffic in the area.

Suddenly the radio began blaring in Russian at him. The SASR officer picked it up and had a brief conversation with whoever was on the other side. After he ended the small talk he turned around to his men and the Dark Horse pilots in the back. "Let's get going. That was a police operator telling me to respond to an emergency three miles from here about some foreign soldiers breaking into her house searching for something. They might be Chinese and they might be closer than we think. If they get the drop on us now it's good night Irene." He then hit the gas and started down the road.

"Exactly where are we going?" asked Tony.

"Flying out of China or Russia might be risky at this moment. There's a plane flying out of Mongolia to Japan. From there we'll fly to Australia. I have tickets for all of us. We're going to make our way across the Russian-Mongolian border to an airfield at Ölgii, which is a few miles in pass the border," replied the officer.

Tony looked out the window and noticed that the sun was going down, causing it to get dark outside. The dim sky was suddenly illuminated as the Atlas fired another shot into low-earth orbit and vaporized another US military satellite. Tony quietly hoped that the United States would somehow find a way to maintain its offensive capability since the world balance of power could be seriously and permanently altered without it.

* * *

**Location: Moscow, Russian Federation**

The Russian President continued to watch as the objects kept coming closer to the earth at an alarming rate. "Where will they hit?" he asked his operator.

The operator immediately began calculating for a probable impact point, but as the President watched the graphic of the meteors he knew all to well where they were going to hit. Before the operator was finished the Russian President shouted, "Tell all Russian forces in the Middle East to take cover immediately!"

* * *

The doctor and his nurses were just closing down the hospital for the day. Many of the paramedics had left to go home and the nurses were just locking up their facilities for the night.

Unexpectedly the glass doors shattered. The doctor and his remaining staff turned around surprised at what had just happened and looked to see several soldiers storm in over the broken glass, all of them were shouting orders to each other in Chinese. They began ripping the place apart, breaking down closed doors and searching through the hospital.

As this was done the sergeant walked up to the doctor and asked in Russian, "Where are the western pilots that you cared for here?"

"Our police took them," the doctor replied.

"Where did they go?"

"I don't know! They took a car and left," the doctor replied.

A soldier walked up to the Sergeant and reported, "None of them are here, Sergeant. If they are in a car then we might be able to find them with a UAV. Russia's air defenses in this area were taken out by the Dark Horses during the mission so we can have one enter from the south. The Russians sent their Su-27 squadrons up north to guard the Atlas so that will allow our UAV to get close to this area. It should be able to scan the roads around us, but if they are too far away we might need to ask them to reroute the helicopters sent in to pick us up. Instead of picking us up they'll need to intercept them and eliminate them directly."

"Send for a request and get back in our vehicles."

* * *

The Dark Horses began to finally feel as if they could relax. They were on their way out of the country and although they had been beaten up, broken down, kicked in, and spit out all of them felt relieved that it was over and they now were not going to be captured in the hands of the Russians or the Chinese.

Tony was just glad that everything had worked out for them. He immediately decided that he was going to be the one to notify Scorch's family of the death of their son. He was also going to ask the Dark Horses to go with him as he visited them in person.

As the vehicle drove on Tony began to feel the exhaustion catch up with him. He made one last scanning of his surroundings before deciding to let himself fall asleep. Nathan on the other hand could not fall asleep as much as he tried. The constant movement of the armored vehicle made his wounds feel much more uncomfortable and it was this discomfort that kept him awake. He watched Tony fall under with a slight hint of envy. He checked the bandages that the nurses had wrapped around his flight suit over his thighs and saw that they were already soaking red. He then looked over at Chance who was just starting to wake up from his drugged induced sleep coma.

"What's going on? Where are we?" he asked.

"On our way home," replied Nathan.

Chance looked at one of the operatives wearing FSB gear with uncertainty.

"Relax. You're with friends," the operative said.

Chance was confused at the moment and asked Nathan to fill him in. Before he could answer a loud explosion went off outside. The car shook violently and forced all the conscious passengers to grab onto something in order to keep themselves from slamming into the walls. Tony woke up immediately. They all felt the car suddenly lift up one side and threaten to roll over. Its lifted side then came back down and slammed the wheels back on the asphalt, forcing everyone to be rocked around inside. With traction returned the officer pushed the gas pedal to the floor and accelerated.

"What the hell was that?" shouted Chance.

The SASR officer looked at his rear-view mirror and saw a contrail from a missile several miles out that was coming down from the sky and heading straight for them. "Bullocks!" he shouted. He looked to his right and saw a ditch with a dirt road that went into a thick woodland area with a canopy of trees above them. He immediately turned hard onto the dirt road and accelerated into the cover of the trees. The missile attempted to follow, but it slammed into the trees and detonated. A wall of shrapnel flew through the woodland trees and sprayed down the armored car, causing little damage. From the inside of the car it sounded as if someone had thrown a thousand metal BBs at it.

"We have company!" the officer shouted.

It was then that they could hear the thumping sound of a helicopter coming closer to them. The Australian officer began making his way through the winding turns of the dirt road, but everyone in the car knew that they had no chance of outrunning a helicopter. If the helicopter had infra-red sights they also had no hope of hiding from it either. The sound of the rotor blades kept getting closer. As they listened carefully they realized that there was more than one set of rotor blades coming towards them. The officer looked outside behind him in the direction that the missile came from and could see the shapes of three helicopters in the sky as they closed the distance. One of them was skinny, meaning that it was possibly an attack helicopter.

Just then several flashes of light came from the front of the skinny helicopter. It was all too obvious that they were the muzzle flashes from an auto-cannon. The officer made a hard turn right in an attempt to go off-road. Just then the ground to the left of them burst in several explosions from cannon rounds. The explosions spread shrapnel all along the outside of the car and ripped two tires. The car had a lot of momentum built up since it was moving at a high speed when it was hit. With two ripped tires the left side fell down and began to drag along the dirt. The car twisted left and headed straight for strong tree growth.

"Brace yourselves!" shouted the officer.

The operatives and the Dark Horses each grabbed onto something with one hand while using their free hands to stabilize their comrades in the stretchers and readied themselves for impact. The car twisted at a right angle before slamming sideways into a thick tree. The loud sound of metal being pounded radiated throughout the vehicle. Everything inside the car violently jerked toward the impacted side. The side of the car dented inward and caused the seats on the right side, which had Pat and two operatives to be pushed inward.

As soon as it had all started, it had all stopped. It was silent inside the vehicle. The engine shut off. They quickly examined each other to see who was alive. "Everyone alright?" asked one of the operatives.

Tony looked around and was glad to find that no one was dead. "I think we're okay," he responded.

Just then the sound of helicopter blades began to get much closer. Tony looked towards the driver seat and saw that the SASR officer had been knocked unconscious. He immediately unbuckled himself and got up toward the rear doors. He opened them up and looked outside. He could see two of the helicopters coming low over the road a couple hundred feet behind them. Several ropes were lowered out of the helicopter and he could see several soldiers slide down the lines and onto the ground. The attack helicopter came uncomfortably closer to his position and Tony recognized it as a Chinese WZ-10. The Chinese pilot kept the helicopter in a hover that was only a football field in length away from him with its auto-cannon trained directly on him. They were cornered.

Tony, Pat, and the three SASR operatives were the only ones able to walk. They all climbed out of the car. Suddenly they heard the sound of automatic weapons fire come from the soldiers. A barrage of bullets landed around them and bounced off the armored car. Pat immediately turned around and slammed the doors shut to keep the weakened members of the Dark Horses shielded from any more bullets. They all ran behind the car and used it as cover. The operatives returned fire with their AKS-74Us while Tony and Pat took out their M9 pistols and had them at the ready.

"Why do you think that gunship isn't firing at us?" asked Pat. "It could kill us in seconds."

They stole a glance at the WZ-10 and noticed that the pilot still had his cannon aimed at them, but had not fired a single shot.

"They probably want you dead but they also want your bodies to be identifiable so they can make sure that they got all of you," replied one of the operatives.

The Chinese soldiers were quickly advancing as they went from cover to cover using the woodland trees. The SASR operatives were also fast running out of ammunition as they returned fire. As the soldiers came closer and ammo dwindled a sense of desperation began to settle in for the Dark Horses and the SASR team. Their death at the hands of the Chinese was now a short matter of time.

Just then the sky seemed to get darker. Tony looked up and saw that several small lights had appeared in the sky. They did not look like stars. Instead they looked like bright hot masses of moving fire. He starred at them for a moment before he realized that they were in fact falling toward the earth. As he watched them fall a sense of fear and excitement rushed over him. This feeling only became enhanced when he saw that the rest of the sky was covered in hot fast streaks of light as several meteors entered the earth's atmosphere and rushed through the air toward the planet surface.

"Take cover!" he shouted.

Pat, Tony, and the operatives huddled close to the armored car as one of the meteors slammed into ground a few miles from them. The resulting impact sent shockwaves that shook the ground beneath them. A second meteor came down right on the WZ-10 gunship and split it in half before smashing into the earth. The ground around them was shaken again and a wall of fire and dirt blew over the car past them as the impact created a massive release of energy that formed a crater. They could feel a powerful burst of heat wash over them.

The two pilots and three operatives waited for several seconds before deciding to look around the car. It was silent. Several of the trees were on fire. A thick cloud of dust and ash was settling in their front. When the cloud cleared away it revealed all of the Chinese soldiers laying on the ground, each of them dead. The helicopters were in burning heaps of smoldering metal behind them.

"Holy shit," Pat whispered.

Just then the SASR officer slowly came to. He looked outside and was surprised that everything was covered in ashy dust. Joy swept through his mind when he realized that their supposed attackers were also dead. The Australian officer then turned to look at the members of his group outside. "What in God's name did you do just now?"

"It wasn't us," replied Pat. "Will the engine start?"

The officer tried to restart the engine and to his amazement the engine started up again. Thankfully the Russian armored car had a switch that sucked the air out of all the tires and would re-balance the vehicle. This would allow them to travel for a certain distance on completely flat tires. Before they all climbed back into the car they looked skyward and saw that the atmosphere was lit up by the many lights of a large meteor shower.

* * *

Russian President Chemezov watched as his military scrambled to find cover, but ultimately could not find enough of it in time. Several meteors landed directly into the Russian and Islamic armies' main headquarters and concentrations of forces. Each impact released a massive burst of energy that broke the earth beneath them and incinerated everything nearby. He could only watch in horror as he saw his tanks, warplanes, helicopters, and men eaten alive by the massive meteor shower through all his monitors and information gathering equipment.

He looked over at one of the television displays that showed the news. It clearly showed several meteors crashing down in the battlefield and enveloping the Russian-Arab Coalition forces as they helplessly tried to find cover.

The President's eyes then shifted toward the global display. One of the meteors came down and directly cratered into the Atlas Laser, destroying it completely. He watched as one particularly large meteor was heading straight for his bunker. "Everyone get out!" he shouted.

However, it was too late. The meteor crashed into the bunker and filled it with fire, ending the lives of everyone inside.

* * *

**Red Crown: Sorry, I took so long to update. Finals week kicked in. Some of you may wonder how what just happened would be possible. Honestly, I just wrote that in a similar fashion to the way the actual prophecy is written. Also, I just wanted to keep you guys updated that I may have a sequel to High Calling coming out called "Flood of Dragons." Also, in my next chapter I will finally give my characters their callsigns. These callsigns are what I will use as their names in my next story. ****Please remember to review if you want me to update!**


	34. Peace Keepers

**Red Crown: This is the last chapter of this adventure.**** It's been an honor entertaining you guys and I thank you for the reviews and the motivation as well as the ideas you have provided me with.**

******Edit: Okay, earlier I said this was going to be the last chapter. Slight change of plans. This is the last chapter that you will see of the Dark Horses. The next chapter will be the last chapter of this story and it will be a preview of my next story.**

_"If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose."_ _― _Charles Bukowski

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR: **_"Peace Keepers"_**

**Date: September 21st, 2015**

**Time: 1540 hours, 3:40 P.M. (Okinawa Time)**

**Location: Kadena Air Force Base, Okinawa, Japan **

The SASR team had driven them to a small dirt airfield in Mongolia. On the airfield was a twin prop civilian airplane. The group was carefully loaded onto the plane, which subsequently took off and headed for Chinggis Khaan International Airport in Mongolia, where they then boarded an airliner. The airliner landed at Kadena Air Force Base in Okinawa, Japan. Thankfully, Sophie's condition had stabilized somewhat by the time they got to Japan. She was still asleep when they landed, but her body had warmed up. She subsequently got a slight fever, but it was not life threatening. Chance on the other hand was in a lot of pain. Once the drugs that the Russian paramedics had given him wore off he could feel the full effects of all the pain from his thrashed skin. The flight was extremely uncomfortable for him. Nathan also experienced an uncomfortable time during the flight, but to a much lesser extent. Tony and Pat had fallen asleep and had the least unpleasant experience out of the lot.

Once the plane landed the Dark Horses were each taken to medical care on the base where they were examined further and treated for their wounds. They were each medically examined to make sure that they were in good enough condition to be put on another airliner on its way to Darwin, Australia.

Tony was sitting on a table in one of the examination rooms. He stared off into deep thought while an Air Force doctor shined a flashlight into his ears, his eyes, and his mouth before checking his pulse. The doctor merely pinched some tape on the wound over his brow and said, "Looks like you don't have any brain damage, but that gash over your eyebrow is pretty deep. It's probably going to leave a permanent mark on your face." Tony looked at the wall next to him to find a mirror and saw that the gash had gone straight down over his outer-middle eyebrow, almost splitting it half.

Just then Tony could hear Nathan say, "I think it's an improvement."

He looked up and saw that his friend was sitting in a wheel chair right outside the open doorway. Nathan was now wearing a hospital gown and had a new set of bandages over his thigh wounds.

"And my face still looks better than yours," Tony shot back at him, causing Nathan to laugh.

"Doctor, I think you should check him again for brain damage. It might be buried deep in there somewhere," Nathan retorted as he wheeled himself in the room. He then asked the doctor, "Any idea why they keep trying to fly us to Australia?"

"I have no idea. I think that's where allied commanders would like to debrief you since it was an Australian operation that rescued you, but at this point it's anyone's guess," replied the doctor before he left the room, leaving Tony and Nathan by themselves.

"How you feeling, fearless leader?" Nathan asked.

"Like I could eat a whale. I'm starving. How far is the mess hall from here?"

"It's on the other side of the air field."

Tony pushed himself off the table and stood on his feet. "That's a long walk isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is, but I won't be doing the walking and I have a faithful friend to push me there right?" Nathan replied as he looked at Tony with a sure smile.

Tony gave a small laugh before saying, "Sure thing. Let's see how the others are doing before we go though." He pushed Nathan out of the room and they went through the medical facility looking for the others.

"I think Sophie's in that room over there," Nathan said as he pointed to one of the rooms in the hallway. Tony immediately steered Nathan's wheel chair in towards the closed door. As they got closer to the door it opened as a US Navy doctor was just exiting the room.

"How is she?" Tony asked the Navy doctor.

"Are you friends of hers?"

"She's in our squadron."

"You can ask her yourself if you want. Aside from a fractured bone in her shoulder I can't find anything wrong with her."

Tony and Nathan entered the room. When they came inside they saw Sophie laying on a bed and drinking a bottle of orange juice with her right arm. Her left arm was in a sling and a cast was over her shoulder. As soon as she saw Tony and Nathan she smiled.

"Hello," she said. She had lost her voice and her speech sounded weak and scratchy. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, you know us. Here and there," replied Nathan.

"Glad to see you're not a pancake," Tony said causing Sophie to laugh.

"Glad to see you aren't a smoldering crater," she replied. She gave Tony a special smile.

Tony smiled back. None of the other Dark Horses were aware of the relationship between them. He felt like keeping it a secret for now and Sophie seemed to want the same.

"God, I'm really not looking forward to the debrief for this one," Nathan said.

Just then they heard a knock on the door. As they turned to look they saw Pat enter the room. She was pushing Chance in a wheelchair of his own. Pat seemed completely fine apart from a few cuts and bruises. Chance on the other hand had bandages all over his arms and legs. The medical personnel had taken away his tattered flight suite and given him a hospital gown.

"There you guys are," said Chance. "Thanks for all meeting in one spot. We thought we were going to have to search every room to find you guys."

Pat then said, "Looks like the gang's all here except for Scorch. Where is he anyway?"

Just then the group remembered that Pat was the only one who did not know what happened to Scorch. She had been shot down before Nathan gave out the radio call when he was killed in action. The room went dead silent and the look on all of their faces became sullied with sorrow.

A couple seconds went by and when no one answered the question Pat immediately assumed the worst. She had lost friends before and each time it felt like having a hole punched through her. It was as if there was now a void in a crucial place that once had something precious fill it. Something was missing and she could tell that everyone else in the room felt that same painful void within themselves.

"How'd he die?" she then asked.

Nathan was the one to answer. "The Red Czar shot a missile at Feng. He pulled up and took that missile head on. He was gone in less than a second."

Another silence went through the room. They all had grown close to Scorch and had come to love him as a brother. He was the first one to die that they all as a group knew personally. Unlike all of the losses they had up until that point the loss of Scorch was felt by all of them.

At that moment Pat's hands clenched into fists and the look in her eyes turned bitterly cold. "Feng, that traitorous bastard," she said. "I bet he knew the Chinese were going to betray us too. He's just a sick man."

"Speaking of the Red Czar, whatever happened to him anyway?" asked Chance.

"He's still alive," Tony responded.

The group turned their attention to their leader and Tony swallowed big knowing that they were really not going to like what he was about to say. For a split second he was tempted to lie to them and say that he did not know what happened to the Russian ace pilot. However, he knew he could not live with himself if he did not tell them the truth. His conscious would probably eat him up inside.

"After he shot down Sophie I went straight for him and I took him one on one. We fought and when my gun jammed I was so angry at him that I tried to ram him. When our aircraft collided it left his Su-50 destroyed and my Rhino intact. I brought myself around and the jam had cleared from the impact. I had my gun leveled on his parachute. I was going to kill him the same way he tried to kill Sophie…"

Tony stopped flat and just stared at the floor as if he was unable to go on. He was greatly worried that they would hate him for letting the man who had killed so many of their comrades live.

"Why did you let him live?" asked Sophie. There was a slight hint of anger in her voice. "Aren't we worth avenging? Wasn't I worth avenging?"

Tony could tell there was some hurt in her voice as well. She was not the only one though. The Dark Horses all wanted an answer.

Tony's once calm demeanor started to shake. He was visibly uncomfortable and the worry that he had tried to suppress took over his body. Pent up emotions were suddenly released in a furious flood and they watched as he began to tear up. He had told no one about the moral struggles that were going through his mind. He thought he was the only one dealing with them and he didn't want to burden any of them with his own problems. All of this he had been holding back and now it was suddenly racing to the surface.

"I am sorry," he said as he raised his piercing brown gaze to meet them. "I love you all. I would give my life for any one of you in a heartbeat. I also miss the people that damn Russian has taken from us forever. I know your pain because I have it here with me and I miss Scorch just as much as any of you. But I looked at the man I would have become if I had pulled that trigger in that moment and it was a monster. I couldn't do it because it would have cost me my soul. Maybe I was too weak, but I just couldn't do it. For that I am so sorry, but please don't ask me to become that man for you."

After that Tony looked back at the floor. He felt unable to look his men in the eyes and was ashamed of his weakness. He reached up to wipe the tears from his face. Everyone had limits of what they were capable of and Tony found his the hard way.

Pat put her hand on Tony's shoulder. "It's okay Tony. I understand."

"We all do," replied Nathan.

Tony tried to collect himself as best he could. He looked around the room and they all nodded. All of them except Sophie. She was looking away angrily out the window and this caused Tony to worry. She had some sort of internal conflict going on within herself as to whether or not to forgive him.

Looking to turn the subject of conversation to something else Nathan said, "I think we should make an argument to whoever is in charge of this base that we are in no condition to travel." They all nodded in agreement. Seeing that he had everyone's attention provoked him to continue on, "Chance looks like he lost a fight with a potato peeler. Sophie almost got turned into an ice pop. Tony had a piece of glass go through his head, thankfully his thick skull protected him. And I've got extra ventilation in my legs. We all need rest."

The pilots laughed at his humorous cracks.

Chance then said, "Let's get something to eat first before we pick an argument."

"I'm not allowed to leave the room till tomorrow," said Sophie. "The doctor is still waiting to see if I have any other conditions that might appear."

"I'll bring you something," Tony said.

Sophie remained silent and merely turned her gaze back out the window as the group left.

* * *

Later in the evening Tony approached Sophie's door with a dish that he had collected from the mess. He saw her eyes were closed and she was laying on her side. He put the tray down on a table next to her bed before turning to leave.

"Wait," she said.

Tony looked at her and realized that she had been awake the whole time.

"Yeah," he said.

Sophie sat up in her seat and this time her gaze was a little kinder, but still very much present with a mix of anger, hurt, and confusion. "Tony, I'm angry at you and I cannot help it."

"I can tell," Tony replied.

"When I woke up and rethought the entire event I realized just how cold-blooded the Red Czar is. He did not just want me dead. He wanted me to experience the fear of falling from five thousand feet to my demise. Even after he did that the fact that you still let him live upsets me."

"You have every right to be angry," Tony said as he leaned against the wall next to her and crossed his arms. A few moments went by as he tried to collect his words. Deep down inside though he was really just glad that Sophie was talking to him. "I realized something when I had the chance to kill him. I had experienced the same thing that he had. He had lost his entire squadron and his instructor to Americans. He killed my instructor and several of my friends. When I was fighting him I thought I had lost most of my squadron to him. As much as I hate to admit it, there are a lot of things he and I have in common and the potential to become him easily exists within me. I chose not to kill him because I knew that was all it would take for me to turn into him. I'm glad I didn't do it. It wouldn't have brought back anyone that he's killed and I would have been letting him take a part of me with him, a part of myself that I would never get back."

Just then the anger in Sophie's eyes seemed to evaporate. "Now I understand," she said. "I guess you made a wise decision then."

Tony relaxed more and was relieved that he was able to talk to Sophie very candidly. "Revenge wouldn't have helped anything. It would only have consumed my soul with a blood lust just as it had done the same to Krylov."

It was then that Sophie saw just how much internal strength Tony had and how much he had tried to carry this burden in his mind. "Tony, next time you have an internal struggle like this please do not keep it to yourself," she said this as she gently grabbed his arm. "You can always talk to me."

Tony grabbed her hand with his own and intertwined their fingers. "I know that now."

"By the way, you still owe me some mint and chip ice cream."

"I'll pay my debt as soon as we have a chance in Australia."

"Wait, then your argument up your chain of command did not win?" she asked.

"They wouldn't even listen to us," he replied.

Tony and Sophie merely shared a laugh at their own predicament.

* * *

**Date: September 23rd, 2015**

**Time: 1230 hours, 12:30 P.M. (Sydney Time)**

**Location: United States Marine Corps Expeditionary Base, Darwin, Australia**

With one night's rest the pilots of the Dark Horses were on a flight to the USMC base at Darwin, Australia. When they stepped off the plane they looked up in the clear sky and were greeted with the friendly sight of two Royal Australian Air Force F/A-18F Super Hornets flying a CAP over the base. The sun was hot and high. The air was humid and the clouds were nowhere to be seen. On the base were several Marines hard at work and going about their mission.

Once on the base they were directed to a briefing room and entered. Standing in the room, much to their surprise was Gex.

"You made it out! We thought you had been captured for sure," said Sophie with delight.

He merely smiled. "I was smuggled out of the country by Australian S-A-S-R the moment you guys took off the runway for the Atlas."

The Dark Horses took their seats as they prepared for a debrief.

"So where are our combat analysts?" asked Tony.

"You mean professional assholes," corrected Pat.

Gex had a very mischievous grin appear on his face at that moment. "You're not going to see them for a while. This was not an operation that your governments officially acknowledged and you are not members of any uniformed armed forces anymore."

The mood in the room immediately brightened up as pilots of the Dark Horses became relieved when they realized they did not have to face another grueling interrogation like the one given to them upon returning from Iran.

"Glad to be free from that kind of cruel and unusual abuse," said Sophie.

Gex then handed them report papers. "From now on your debriefings will be conducted with me. Once we discuss everything down to the letter and you write out everything that happened in those report filings you can be free for a three day R and R that I secured for you right here in Australia."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get this over with!" said an extremely happy Nathan.

* * *

The Dark Horse pilots entered an Australian pub called the Boomerang. They quickly took over a booth in the corner so they had a part of the pub all to themselves. Tony sat down in the corner while Sophie picked the spot next to him. On the other side of Tony sat Chance and Pat while Nathan pulled up to an open side of the table with his wheelchair.

"Okay, I take back what I said. This trip to Australia was so worth it," Nathan said.

"Agreed," Tony replied.

The waitress came by and asked for their order. They all decided to get Long Island Ice Teas and do one silent toast to Scorch. They then downed their Long Islands as quickly as possible before getting their own individual drinks.

As this was going on Nathan had a thought that he said out loud, "That reminds me, how come none of us have callsigns yet?"

Pat laughed, before saying, "We could make some up right now if you want to. We are own squadron after all. But if we do it there have to be some rules. Everyone has to agree that it fits him or her. If everyone doesn't agree then we need to think of a new one.""

Chance and Sophie seemed confused.

"What is a callsign?" Sophie asked.

Pat quickly responded, "It's a nickname that everyone in the squadron uses to call you by. It's a tradition used only by American fighter squadrons. We should give you guys some too."

"Well then," Chance said before taking a sip of his Blue Moon, "Let's get on with it shall we. Who goes first?"

It was then that Tony said, "How about Nathan?"

"Before you guys say anything," Nathan started, "'Jester' is too generic and TOPGUN already beat it to death."

"We know, we know," said Tony.

"I like 'Bear.'" said Pat. "Maybe it's because you've managed to come back and fly even after what happened to your legs."

Tony nodded in agreement. "I think it fits." Sophie and Chance seemed to agree too.

"'Bear' it is then." Nathan said pleased with his nickname. He took another drink. "Okay, Sophie's turn."

The pilots then looked at Sophie and began to ponder.

After several seconds of thinking Nathan stated, "I think we should call her 'Frost Queen' since she survived being in ice cold water for so long."

Everyone really liked that idea and Sophie smiled showing that she liked it too.

"How about 'Frost' for short," Tony said before taking another sip from his drink.

"I accept," Sophie said with delight as she took another drink. "I think Pat should go next."

The pilots turned their attention to Pat and she merely struck a pose as if someone were taking a picture of her.

"I want to call you 'Stix,'" said Chance.

"What? Why do you want to call me that?"

"Cause you're so lanky you look like a stick-figure sometimes," he said, causing a laugh to erupt from the group and expressions of approval to soon follow.

Pat merely crossed her arms as she accepted her fate. "Okay, okay. Anyway, it's Chance's turn now."

With all eyes on Chance the Canadian merely took another drink from his Blue Moon as he awaited a verdict.

"I want it to be something music related. How about 'Mozart?'" Pat said with a smirk, resulting in him shooting her a dirty look. She was clearly trying to get on Chance's nerves.

To her surprise everyone in the group liked that name.

"That's very appropriate for Chance actually," said Sophie. "I think we should keep it."

Chance took another drink before shrugging. "Fair enough," he said. "Last but not least, let's go to Tony."

They were actually having a difficult time thinking of what to call Tony. They quietly began to brainstorm as they sipped their drinks.

"I like the name 'Lucky,'" said Nathan. "You'd have to have been to survive all those encounters with the Red Czar and still be alive."

"I don't like 'Lucky.' It sounds like a dog's name. How about 'Luck' with no 'y?'" suggested Sophie.

The group nodded.

"Okay, I'll take it," Tony said with approval as he took a drink. "'Luck' it is."

Sophie then held up her drink to propose a toast. "To callsigns!"

The Dark Horse pilots then clanged their glasses together in the center of the table and took a drink.

"Sophie," called Pat to get her attention. "So how did things go regarding that last conversation we had before leaving Langely?"

Sophie smiled as she remembered what Pat had said to her. She leaned over in Tony's ear and asked in a whispered voice, "Should we let them know about us now?"

Tony whispered back with a smile, "Sure, why not?" He then grabbed her and pulled her into a passionate kiss, which she quickly returned.

Upon seeing this Nathan immediately pointed at them and shouted at the top of his lungs. "What is this and how long has it been going on?" causing another laugh to erupt from the pilots as Tony and Sophie broke the kiss and laughed with their comrades. Pat merely smirked quietly and took another sip from her drink.

"Well, in any case, I wish you two the best," Nathan said before taking another drink.

"So where are we going from here after we leave Australia? Will they break us up?" asked Chance.

"I don't think so," responded Tony. "There are still many uses to our allied nations for a multi-national mercenary squadron, especially now that the Middle East has become one big power vacuum from the war. The world and the future is now very uncertain. We might be called upon again to keep the peace or hold back some power hungry warlord from taking advantage of the situation. Either way, whatever happens we'll still be here and ready for it. In the mean time we need to bury our fallen and regroup. This is a time of peace and rest and we need to take advantage of it while we can."

Chance held his Blue Moon up and proposed another toast with the simple words, "To keeping the peace." Once more the Dark Horses clanged their glasses together in the center of the table and drank.

Tony then proposed a final toast, "To the Dark Horses." One last time they connected their glasses together. The group of warriors downed their drinks entirely and put empty glasses on the table.

* * *

**Red Crown: You'll probably laugh when I tell you this. I had originally planned to have a tragic ending, but I just finished watching the Red Wedding scene of Game of Thrones and I was so furiously mad at that tragedy that I decided to make my story more on the happy side. I'm currently in the process of turning this into a novel. When it comes out it will be titled "The Dark Horses." More reviews will bring you the first chapter of Flood of Dragons sooner. Also, in Flood of Dragons I will be using the callsigns of my pilots on a regular basis. I decided to hold off on the callsigns to the end because I didn't want to confuse my readers. I am also really interested in hearing opinions on what you guys think of the callsigns. As always more reviews will bring you the first chapter of Flood of Dragons sooner. It's been an honor. One more thing: Happy 4th of July!**


	35. Uncertain Future

**Red Crown: Okay, so one of my reviewers sent me a personal message that pointed out several things that were missing from the ending of my story. I was very shocked that I had not included these in my thought process so I will include them in an extra chapter. I'm going to run back to talk to a certain publisher. Thanks, Wing Zero Alpha!**

_"What do you want?"_  
_"Just coffee. Black - like my soul."_  
― Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE: _**"Uncertain Future"**_

**Date: September 24th, 2015**

**Time: 1100 hours, 11:00 P.M. (Beijing Time)**

**Location: Unknown, People's Republic of China**

A group of generals and admirals are seated in front of a large plasma screen TV. These are generals and admirals from every branch of the PLA services: army, air force, and navy. Seated in front of them is the Minister of Defense and State Councilor, a man of the name Long Jing. Long was a veteran of the Sino-Vietnamese War of 1978. He had spent his young days running through the jungles of Vietnam and fighting the battle hardened Viet-Cong. Most of his life was nothing but dedicated service to the Middle Kingdom. The events around the Middle East and Russia had shocked him. Now he was worried that this situation would bring more war.

He had decided to make his generals watch the western news outlets because it helped them gain perspective on what the Americans and the Europeans thought about the events. The current reporter they were watching was from a British news network. It had Chinese subtitles, but Long Jing didn't need them. He understood English perfectly well.

The female British reporter went on as visual images of a shattered Middle East were displayed. "The Middle East has been decimated by a large string of meteor strikes. Many question if this is the biblical prophecy in the books of Ezekiel fulfilling itself. However, much of that is only speculation. The countries hit by the meteor strikes extend from North Africa and go all the way up to Russia. Most of these countries have had their armed forces completely crippled. Their ability to restore order within their own borders has diminished considerably. All reports available have shown that the meteor shower has caused widespread panic in all of those nations affected. This begs the crucial question though that the world is asking: How will the world get its flow of oil out of the Middle East when there is no government able to provide security for it? Meanwhile in the Russian Federation we have only recently confirmed that Russian president Sergei Chemezov and his administration were killed in meteor strikes, leaving the country leaderless."

Suddenly the reporter paused abruptly. The screen switched to show her sitting down behind a desk and did so just in time to catch the shocked reaction on her face as she was given news through an ear-piece she was wearing. "This just in! Russia has fallen into a state of civil war! I repeat! Russia has fallen into civil war!" The image on the screen changed to that of Russia and showed Mi-28 Havoc helicopter gunships flying over Moscow and firing at targets in the streets. Rows of Russian Army tanks rolled into the capital as soldiers began to open fire on the police. In the middle of all this were the ordinary citizens scrambling to find the means to survive. The reporter began to read new information she was getting as the images continued to show. "Without a leader the Russian government loyalists have found themselves facing a large insurrection from political parties of ultra-nationalists. Heavy fighting has spread throughout western Russia and is heavily concentrated around Moscow. It is unclear which side has the advantage..."

As the reporter continued to read on Long Jing's face was saturated with worry. Russia was a nuclear power and anytime it went through a transition it put all of its nuclear weapons at risk. However, Russia had undergone a new government transition when the Soviet Union fell without a nuclear incident. Jing hoped that they could do it again despite the increased level of violence. Jing turned to his generals and admirals before lowering the volume on the TV and saying, "We need to focus our intelligence assets on the conflict in Russia. We must make sure that none of our enemies or outside radical groups get their hands on any nuclear warheads. I'll coordinate our information with intelligence groups in the United States. We have to find a way to keep nuclear materials out of the wrong hands."

All the high ranking officers in the room nodded. Suddenly, from the corner of the room they heard a smooth cool voice say, "What we should also be doing is preparing for a shortage of oil."

All eyes in the room turned to look in the direction the voice came from and settled on a particular general with a scar that went along his right cheek and down into the collar of his uniform. He had hair that was graying over and eyes that were worn from combat. Although his eyes were worn from war there something else in them as well. The skin around his eyes was wrinkled, but deep in his orbs was a hidden fire of passion that had remained over his many years of life. Jing responded to the man by saying, "I am well aware of that possibility, General Yang."

General Yang of the People's Liberation Army had fought the Vietnamese in several skirmishes that occurred in the 1980s. However, there was something about General Yang that worried Jing. He could not quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was the fact that General Yang was much too popular a figure within all branches of the Chinese military for his actions against the Vietnamese. Maybe it was the fact that he also had many friends in the intelligence services and the secret police. Maybe it was the fact that those same friends of his had masked his activities as of late and now no one in China knew what he was doing or where had been for the past couple of months. These were all factors that made him a man of great power and great mystery. He had many connections and many supporters, but an agenda that no one could draw any conclusions from.

General Yang spoke again. All the high ranking officers in the room payed very close attention to his words as he held sway over the room. "If we run out of oil we will need to get it from somewhere else. Our suppliers in the Middle East are significantly crippled. Our only other option was Russia, but there's no telling how long their civil war will last nor if their industry will be able to make deliveries under the current pressure that it's enduring. The Americans will still be getting oil since they normally rely on imports from Canada and they can simply increase those imports at will to meet their demands. If our reserves run low we may need to look to our south. Don't forget that our growing nation is in the greatest demand for natural energy to keep itself on the rise. Any slow down could hurt the Middle Kingdom's efforts to take its rightful place."

Jing narrowed his eyes at the veteran general and replied, "Be mindful of what you say, General. I hope you're not thinking of starting some level of violence beyond our southern borders in the South China Sea to obtain that oil."

General Yang merely stood up from his seat and said in a manner that was calm, yet terrifying, "I wouldn't dream of it." He then turned to the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have several matters of my own to attend to." He walked out of the room.

General Yang went down a long hallway. There was a certain level of calm to his stride as if every motion was deliberate. At the end of the hallway was one of his admirers whom he had personally ordered to be brought to him: a J-20 pilot named Major Feng. Feng was in his dress uniform and stood at attention. When Yang approached him he gave a sharp salute. "At ease, Major Feng. Follow me."

Feng lowered his salute and followed the General as they walked down the hallway. "Sir, it's an honor to meet you."

"I've read your record, Feng. It's pretty impressive," the General said.

"Thank you, sir."

"I also know about what you did in Russia a few days ago."

The look on Feng's face saddened slightly. "It was a failure, sir."

General Yang put a hand on his shoulder before saying, "You were up against impossible odds. What you did is still impressive. You also understand that we turned on the westerners to protect our interests for the overall good of China, correct?"

Feng was hesitant to answer. The truth was that deep down inside he knew it was the best action for China to betray the Dark Horses. This still did not make him feel any better about it, but his loyalty to the PRC ultimately came first. "I understand, sir."

"Good," Yang said. He reached into his uniform and pulled out a folder that he placed in Feng's hands. "You're working for me now. I have big plans for China. I trust I can rely on you when I need you."

Feng opened the folder and read the contents to discover that he was being transferred to a special unit that reported exclusively to General Yang. "You can count on me, sir," he said before giving another sharp salute as the General walked further down the hallway and disappeared down a dark corridor.

THE END

* * *

**Red Crown: Okay, now it's the end. More reviews means you will get the first chapter of Flood of Dragons sooner!**


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